


A New Sun Rises

by witness_to_the_mayhem



Series: Misthios [1]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece, Ancient Greece, Assassin's Creed: Odyssey, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Cult of Kosmos (Assassin's Creed), Family Drama, Gen, Mercenaries, Swearing, first of nine parts, i put the PJO characters in the AC:O plot, i wrote this for my personal joy. serotonin straight to the dome, near every character from PJO is here, percy's a mercenary? estelle's evil? carter kane is here?, spoilers!!! for!!! everything!!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26924491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witness_to_the_mayhem/pseuds/witness_to_the_mayhem
Summary: Percy Jackson has been a mercenary for the last decade. Before that...well. Some things are better left forgotten.Life in ancient Greece is hard, but he's managed to carve out a decent life for himself on the small island of Kephallonia with his friends: the eccentric Mr. D, playful Bianca, and a falcon all the way from Egypt. Despite this contentment, however, Percy feels pulled to the sea--a small, powerful wish to explore all of Greece, and maybe even return home. He keeps this longing to himself, not wanting to ruin the peace of Kephallonia.But that all changes when a mysterious old woman going only by Dodds gives Percy his strangest assignment yet--to kill the Wolf of Sparta. And she's willing to pay a lot of money. As Percy takes to the waves in search of his target, he realizes that he has to embrace his past to prepare for the future--it could kill him if he doesn't.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson
Series: Misthios [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1964569
Comments: 16
Kudos: 39





	1. So It Begins

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for entertaining the idea of reading this :)
> 
> Some quick things: this fic is a crossover--I put the PJO characters in the plot of Assassin's Creed: Odyssey (or AC:O). You do not need to have played AC:O to understand or enjoy this fic (think of it as an Ancient Greece AU!). This fic will only be featuring PJO characters--no HOO or TOA or MCGA (although Carter Kane is here. For funsies). I do accept constructive criticism, just please...keep it constructive, lmao. And this will be a looooong fic--nine chapters in this part, which is part one of NINE--so strap in. 
> 
> I think that's everything. I hope you enjoy! :)

Under the gleaming Mediterranean sun, a falcon soared.

He swooped above the sparkling blue ocean, slipped through green poplars and galloping deer, and circled Lightning Zeus,the towering statue hewn from Mount Ainos. Kephallonia was a raw place, untamed, as though carved from each beam of sunlight that landed on its pocked, scraggly shores. The falcon felt that light burrowing between his wings, hot on his shimmering feathers. He flapped his wings twice over the dust of Sami, then turned southwest. After gliding through the poised arms and dark eyes of Lightning Zeus, he plunged, diving for the house at the base of the mountain. He gave a single flap of contentment as he landed beside Percy Jackson, sitting on the lip of the roof.

Percy studied the falcon, amused. He scratched the bird’s head as he watched the western shore. “Have a nice flight, Carter?”

The falcon did not reply; with a mighty flap, he was airborne once again. Percy chuckled to himself, then turned back to watch the sea. He held a bronze xiphos gently in his hands, idly running his fingers over the engraved word near the hilt: _Anaklusmos_. He hummed a little to himself, lost in thought as Carter flew over the house--a disorganized two-story affair of wood and mud bricks. A clothesline rested on one of the balconies beside the thatch roofs. One wall was almost completely overtaken by climbing ivy; another had a smear of blue paint across it. Piles of wood, woven baskets, animal traps, and various cloth sacks were scattered about the patchy ground. Percy sat above it all, his rooftop balcony sheltering the last of the ivy and a few clay pots.

“Hey! Shit-face! Get down here!”

Percy sighed, closing his eyes for a brief moment before turning to face the speaker. Two thugs stood before his home, leering. “Cyclops got a message for you.”

Percy stood. With a single leap he was on the ground, standing before the two men. The thugs barely flinched; they knew of Percy’s great strength, honed over nearly two decades of training. Jumping from a two-story building was nothing for the misthios.

Percy adjusted his grip on his xiphos. “Tell your boss he can stick it--”

Out of nowhere, one of the thugs punched Percy in the face. He reeled back, hand flying up to his jaw as the other thug cried, “That was for last week!”

“Maláka!” Percy grunted. He felt blood drip from his nose. Gripping his sword, he swung at the two men. They dodged, having just enough time to ready their shields before Percy swung again.

“The Cyclops said you like to act tough!” one thug sneered as he swung his blade. “So act tough!”

Sparks flew as Percy expertly parried the blow. “Get a little closer, and I will.” His xiphos bit into their armor, sending the thugs staggering back. One fell and did not rise. The other lifted his shield as Percy struck; his sword clanged dully into the leather, and the thug slid his blade up Percy’s arm, drawing blood and a hiss from the misthios.

“You should know by now,” the thug grunted, “the Cyclops always collects his debts. You have a lesson to learn.” As Percy dodged, he wished he was wearing his armor--flimsy as it was, it would be better than just his blue tunic. He whirled his blade, knocking his opponent back.

“If the Cyclops wants to teach me,” he growled, “he should come here himself.” With a final slice, the thug was knocked to the ground, lying with clenched teeth in the Kephallonian weeds.

Percy caught his breath, eyeing the fallen thugs. With a groan, he lowered himself to the ground, sitting and rubbing his eyes.

Carter settled on a pole, watching. Percy lifted a hand. “Thanks for the help.”

The bird squawked indignantly.

“This happens every week,” he muttered, massaging his wrists. “You’d better get used to it if you’re going to stay.”

As he pinched the bridge of his nose, Percy heard someone bounding up the road. He’d know those quick footsteps anywhere. He closed his eyes.

He felt a shadow fall over him as his latest visitor walked over. Cracking his eyes open the tiniest bit, he saw the fuzzy silhouette of a teenage girl. Her sleek black hair was tied up in a bun, and her olive-skinned arms were crossed. “What happened to you?”

Percy opened his eyes completely, lowering his hand. “It’s nothing, Bianca. You missed it.”

“You’d think those malákas would learn,” Bianca said as she stepped over the unconscious thugs.

Percy sighed. “Don’t say that word.”

“You say it all the time.”

“I’m old enough to.”

“I’m thirteen!”

“Not old enough.”

Jogging up to a plate of fruits and nuts lying among the various woodpiles, Bianca grabbed a fig and hoisted herself onto a boulder, swinging her legs as she watched Percy. “Of course,” Percy said, rolling his eyes, “help yourself.” Bianca smiled mischievously. Carter landed next to her, falcon eyes fixed on the plate. She slid the plate over to him with a chuckle. “You hungry too, Ikaros?”

Percy bit his lip upon hearing that name--a false name, something he hoped he and Carter would laugh about someday. When the falcon started following Percy around, people took notice. They asked what the bird’s name was, and Percy knew he couldn’t tell the truth--that this was Carter Kane, Pharaoh of the mysterious House of Life from across the waves. Greeks were too jumpy around Egyptian magic already; if they knew that there was a man who could turn himself into a falcon, they’d lose it. So Percy, panicked, said the name of the first other bird-man that came to mind--"Ikaros”, Daedalus’s fallen son. The irony did not escape him. Nor did it escape Carter.

Percy tilted his head, watching as Bianca fed Carter a piece of fig. She looked over at him. “Do you think Zeus would bless me with a falcon? Like he blessed you?”

“Ikaros isn’t a blessing. He’s a friend.”

Bianca laughed again, rubbing Carter’s head. “What’s the difference?”

Percy stood, stretching his arms. “Why are you here, Bianca?”

“Mm, I almost forgot.” She hopped off the boulder. “Mr. D is looking for you.”

Percy stifled a groan. “What does he want now?”

“He wants you to meet him at his new house.” Bianca’s eyes glimmered with mirth as she bit back a laugh. “It’s on a vineyard.”

“...What? A _vineyard_?!” Percy threw his head back. “Maláka…”

“He says wine will make him rich.”

“Mr. D says a lot of things,” Percy grumbled. “Since when has he had a vineyard?”

“Since yesterday, I think.”

Percy glowered at a basket. “So. Mr. D, who owes _me_ drachmae, is buying _vineyards_?!” He threw up his hands. “With what money?”

“I don’t know.” She tossed a fig into the air, caught it, then tossed it again. “That man is beyond us all.”

“That man is beyond _men_.”

Bianca laughed at the jibe. “Better keep your voice down about that. He can make you go crazy.”

“With the magic wine from his new vineyard.” Percy sighed again. It was unbelievable. He turned his head to Bianca, hands on his hips. “Where can I find Mr. D’s new, beautiful estate?”

Bianca bit into a dried apricot to keep from laughing. “It’s on the road to Sami. Just south of the Zeus statue on Mount Ainos.”

Percy nodded. “I guess I’ll have to pay him a visit.”

“That would be best.” She snatched a final handful of pistachios with a grin. “For the road!” She said when Percy narrowed his eyes at her. “I’ll go tell Mr. D you’re coming.” She ran up the path to Sami, brown tunic swirling around her as she kicked up dust. With one outstretched arm, she held a little wood carving--a bird, one just like “Ikaros”--that Percy had made for her months ago. She made little “caw, caw!” sounds as she bounded away.

As Percy watched her leave, the thugs began to stir. “My head,” one moaned as he sat up.

Percy leaned over them. He shouldn’t let them leave his home alive. He should gut them now--to send yet another message to the Cyclops. He waited for them to stand. A long moment passed.

Percy gestured to the road. “Fun’s over,” he said with finality. A pause. “Tell that one-eyed freak if he ever sends you here again, I will cut out his other eye and feed it to my bird.”

Carter flapped his wings and cawed, as if to emphasize the point. The men limped away, defeated.

Percy walked inside his house, putting on some simple leather armor over his blue tunic. It seemed you could never be without it in this country.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That brings us to the end of the first chapter. I intend to have the next chapter up within the next week (next Friday at the absolute latest). I really hope you liked it--if you have any feedback at all, please do leave a comment, I'd love to hear your thoughts! Follow me on Tumblr (url: from-the-child-gods) for updates about this fic as well as cool modern-mythology content. 
> 
> I promise, notes aren't going to be this long and immersion-breaking all the time. I just wanted to clear some things up--answer some potential questions--considering that this is the first chapter of MANY. 
> 
> Bye!


	2. Debt Collector

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy finds Mr. D's new vineyard, and the two talk business.

The road to Sami was simple--a thin dirt path surrounded with yellow-green brush, olive and plane trees, and the occasional purple flower. It wound through these thin forests of Kephallonia, brushing against crumbling stone shrines and the ruins of small temples, whose pillars were encased with vines, patron gods abandoned. Rams bolted through the shady undergrowth, scattering crows as they galloped between the trees. White herms--rectangular stone pillars capped with the face of Hermes--marked the way. Percy jogged along this route, supple sandals near-silent on the ground, sunlight speckling his browned skin and dark hair as it filtered through the trees.

As the road steepened, climbing up the foothills of Mount Ainos, Percy wondered at what Mr. D could’ve possibly been thinking. Despite being rich, he always seemed to be indebted to someone; despite his best intentions, he always seemed to find trouble. Percy had learned long ago that to “loan” Mr. D drachmae was the same as flinging the gold pieces into the ocean, never to be seen again. Perhaps worse than that--at least when you tossed coins into the tide, you knew they wouldn’t be wasted on foolishness such as vineyards.

And yet, Percy continued to give the man money and time, bemusing many Kephallonians. There was a simple explanation: the rumor that Mr. D was a god. The islanders couldn’t explain it, but something about his stance, his laugh, his glower--there was a power in it, something old and undefined. Then the man would bury his head in a kylix of wine and everyone would assume they’d imagined it. But they kept a respectful distance and tolerated his failings as a debtor anyway.

The Oracles had failed Percy too many times--he only believed in gods when it was convenient, and he certainly did not think Mr. D was among the holy hosts. He had a different motivation behind his loyalty: Mr. D had saved his life as a child--taken him in when he was abandoned and trained him to be a misthios. Despite all of Mr. D’s annoying tendencies and stupid decisions, Percy had his back. He owed him that much.

The vineyard sprawled over the foothills, with a grand house at the summit of one. People meandered through the green shrubbery aimlessly--despite being ready for work in their straw hats and sturdy tunics, grapes wouldn’t be in season for another two months. Percy shook his head as these workers gazed at him, distracted--and a little alarmed--at seeing the warrior stomping across the farm in armor.

The house was tidy and vast, with multiple levels built of pale mud bricks and wood. The multiple courtyards around the entrance featured colorful canopies and shaded benches, under and upon which men and women lounged with their favorite stitched cushions, their jewelry clinking together as they laughed and conversed. They too watched the misthios--some even waved--as they held untouched kylikes of wine. These wealthier people must have had some business with Mr. D, but seemed all too happy to wait on his splendid estate. As children rushed around, playing some kind of game, Percy wondered if Bianca was among them.

Mr. D stood on a patio on the opposite side of the house, hidden from the view of his guests. He was cloaked in fabrics of rich purple and bright orange, the garments draped over one shoulder. With his shiny black hair, clinking gold necklaces, and protruding belly, he seemed more a rich man than a powerful god. He faced the vineyard, watching workers mill about the fields. Beside him, a farmer was trying to make his case: “Boss, I keep telling you, you can’t do that.”

Mr. D did not face him. “Why?” his voice boomed. “It’s my farm! I will plant where I wish!” Those who did not know better would assume his loud voice was a mark of joviality; but Percy knew better. Something was peeving Mr. D.

“The grapes will die here,” the farmer explained. “All of them!”

Mr. D scoffed. “Forget what you think you know about grapes, my friend. We will plant them here, and--I assure you!--they will grow, and we will look back on this day--”

Percy stepped to the edge of the patio, clearing his throat.

Mr. D grinned. “Peleus, finally!”

“It’s Perseus, sir. Percy.”

Mr. D briskly waved his hand, and the farmer stormed off, mumbling at the dismissal. “Thinks he can tell me about grapes…”

“I know more than you about grapes!” Mr. D shouted at the farmer’s back, going from conversational to furious in an instant. Then he turned back to Percy, conversational once again. Percy barely flinched at these mood swings--he’d been around Mr. D long enough to be used to them.

“What do you want?” Percy prompted.

Mr. D brushed his hands together, clasping them in front of him. “What is this ingratitude? I sent Bianca to warn you about the Cyclops’ men!”

“Would’ve been nice if that warning came before they hit me,” Percy retorted. He crossed his arms. “But that’s way besides the point. A vineyard? What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking about wine, boy.”

_When are you not?_ “So you bought a vineyard?”

“Everybody buys wine, Petros! Why not buy it from me?”

“It’s Perseus! And you don’t know how to make wine!”

Mr. D merely chuckled, scanning the horizon. Something glimmered in his small, dark eyes, and Percy felt vaguely uneasy--like there was something he didn’t know. The feeling immediately dissipated when Mr. D replied, “Come on! You really think I’d go into such a venture without a plan?”

“Yes.”

“You know me better than that. I always have a plan.”

“Oh, sure. Do you have a plan to get the money you owe me?”

He chuckled again. “Oh, of course!”

Percy held out a hand.

“Well, not at the moment.”

“Shocking.”

“Oh, quit your whining, boy. I have the drachmae waiting for you, it just needs to be collected. You know Duris, in Sami? The merchant? He has it all. You just need to ask him for the money, you’ll be paid back in full!”

“...You want me to collect my own debt?”

“You should be thanking me. The money is just waiting for you in Sami.”

Percy stifled a groan, rubbing his temples. There would be no reasoning with Mr D; if he wanted his money, he’d have to get it himself. “How should I handle this?”

“Not like you handled that olive oil business. That...that was too much.”

“I got the money.”

“And now we will never get any more from him again.” Mr. D sighed, furrowing his brows. “Talk to him. Break his things if he won’t give it up--steal it if you have to. No killing unless you can’t avoid it.”

“He’d better have the drachmae, Mr. D. I’d hate for you to have to sell your vineyard.”

“Fear not, Philippos.” Mr. D pointed a finger, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he squinted. “And there’s something else I need to discuss with you.”

Percy waved a hand as he walked away. “After.” He strolled off the patio, Mr. D in hot pursuit.

Many of the people milling around the estate looked up as Mr. D came into view, but they kept their distance. Mr. D leaned towards Percy. “How do you plan to get to Sami?”

“The same way I get everywhere.”

“You’re going to walk all the way to Sami on a day this hot?”

Percy raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Why do you care?”

“Trust me, Paskalis, I don’t.” They were nearing the edge of the estate. A wide dirt path twisted northeast, in the direction of Sami, edged by a split rail fence. The sun lit the yellow grasses and green trees beyond the vineyard, haloing them in gold, and if Percy looked far enough, he could see it sparkling on the sea. He narrowed his eyes, spotting a big group of farmers out on the road struggling with some kind of animal.

Mr. D stroked his stubbly chin. “You know Mikis, the trader?” Percy nodded. “He came in yesterday with a fine specimen--a beautiful black horse from Sparta.”

Percy’s eyes widened at the mention of that faraway land. He didn’t hear anything else Mr. D said; as the man droned on and on about how splendid the beast was and the “value of a good investment,” Percy struggled to not be taken in by memories.

_Don’t_ , he thought, _don’t…_

Through careful concentration, he kept from losing himself in the tide of memory--from drowning in his mother’s laugh, his father’s smile, his little sister’s face. He had beaten back the pain of the past once again, bringing himself back to reality, left with nothing but the smell of Lakonian pine trees.

Mr. D looked at him expectantly. Percy grimaced. “What?”

“Are you deaf, boy? Do you want it or not?”

“Want what?”

“The horse!”

“ _What?_ ”

The farmers pulled the stubborn black horse up the path as the animal whinnied and pranced. Without thinking, Percy ran up to the struggling men. “Cut it out! You’re hurting it!”

“Are you daft, boy?! Get back!” The farmers tugged on the horse’s reins, then ran back with a shout as the horse reared.

Percy held up his hands, taking a few steps back. “Woah, there! Woah…” He quickly grasped the reins and gently pulled the horse’s head down. The horse seemed to settle down with a huff, calming in Percy’s presence. He stroked the great beast’s nose. The black coat of the horse shone with sweat in the sunlight, and his eyes, bright with intelligence, focused on Percy. A sense of familiarity came over the misthios. _Do you miss Sparta at all?_

The horse grunted, jerking its head up and then down--as if nodding. Percy arched a brow, then chuckled. What a funny coincidence--as if the horse had read his mind.

“Do you want it?” Mr. D kept his distance from the horse, cupping his hands over his mouth. He scowled at the farmers gathering their bearings around him. “It seems you’re the only one who can handle him.”

Percy gave a half-smile over his shoulder. “I’ve always had a way with horses.”

“He’s yours.” He fanned his face, turning to walk back to his house. “Ride him to Sami and get my money.”

Percy turned to one of the farmers. “What’s his name?”

“Rota.”

He furrowed his brows. “Like the game?”

The farmer shrugged. “I’m not the one who named him.”

Percy nodded and faced the horse. “Hi, Rota.”

Rota was already saddled and calmed. He looked ready to go anywhere, and Percy was too. It’d be nice to stop in Sami--to buy some new weapons, maybe, after he got his money...

A woman ran up the road, panting and disheveled. Her light brown tunic had mud splattered across the hem, and her dark hair was falling out of her updo. “Misthios! MISTHIOS!”

Percy ran up to her. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Bianca!” the woman wailed. “She’s been taken!”

“What?!” Percy stepped closer as the woman buried her face in her hands. “Who took her? Where is she?!”

“The Cyclops’ thugs!” she panted. “On the beaches...they’re keeping her on the beaches…”

“Which beaches?”

The woman gestured frantically to the southeast. Without another word, Percy clambered onto Rota, glancing at Mr. D.

A cold fire burned in Mr. D’s eyes, and Percy felt the unease from earlier creep up his spine once more. “Go get her, boy.”

With a single snap of the reins, Rota was off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Blackjack" as we know it was invented in France in the 1700s. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't name the horse Blackjack in good conscience--it wouldn't make sense in 422 BC. So I named him "Rota" after the ancient Roman strategy game. Which is, I guess, better than naming him "Dice" or "Tilia" (which is apparently the earliest form of checkers). Yikes.


	3. Another Day, Another Drachma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to rescue Bianca.

Rota galloped over Kephallonia so fast, Percy would’ve assumed they were flying. Golden grass bent to the ground in their wake as they rushed past, hooves hammering into the dirt path. The horse dodged stones and hills with expertise, his black form as fast and foreboding as Carter’s shadow. The falcon flew above silently. Percy could barely see the bird, his feathery silhouette haloed by the noontime sun. He leaned into Rota’s mane, gritting his teeth. 

He should’ve killed those thugs when he had the chance. 

Ktymena. That was the beach--the southeasterly one the woman had pointed to. Percy couldn’t explain how he knew. He could rationalize it, say he ‘knew Kephallonia like the back of his hand’, but that wasn’t it. He had an inexplicable instinct when it came to the sea. As soon as the woman said “beach” and pointed, the destination came to him: _Ktymena beach._

He was certain. And, as if the tide was pulling him in closer--as if he could hear Bianca’s cries echo off of the water--he knew he was going in the right direction. 

The trees and hills fell away as he grew closer to the shore, replaced with uneven stones and golden sand. Percy pulled ever so slightly on the reins and Rota slowed gracefully. He turned his head, watching Percy as he dismounted and crouched among the grasses of a dune. 

A small cove lay before him, bordered by a bluff to the south and several small dunes. Clear blue water lapped up to the shore gently, quietly. The Cyclops’ thugs had pitched small tents in the shadow of the bluff. Underneath the biggest one, Percy could see Bianca.

She was kneeling on the ground, ropes tied around her torso, ankles, and wrists. Her face was smeared with dirt and her hair, undone, spilled to her shoulders. From his place behind the dune, Percy couldn’t make out the details--couldn’t even see how many thugs remained in this camp. He could get closer. 

Or… 

Percy looked to the sky. Carter was circling overhead, waiting for something. 

Percy whistled--a warbling sound not unlike a twittering bird. Carter flapped his wings once, as if acknowledging, and quit his circling, swooping closer to the camp. Percy watched as Carter glided above the tents. After a moment, the bird turned and rushed back to Percy. 

“What did you see?” Percy whispered urgently as Carter landed beside him.

Carter made a soft falcon cry. Percy frowned. “Look, I know you’re struggling with it, but it’d be really helpful if you could turn back into a human right now and tell me what’s up.” 

Percy saw the bird’s shoulders tense. Carter closed his eyes, concentrating...and then nothing. He chirped. 

Percy pressed his lips together. “Okay. We’ll work on it, buddy. How many guys are there?” 

Carter flapped his wings, flying just far enough to grab a few small stones. He returned, plopping three stones in Percy’s lap. 

Three guys. Piece of cake. Percy nodded at Carter and the falcon took off once more, standing by should Percy need help. 

Percy crept forward, inching around from behind the dune to the grasses in front. He was completely silent--his feet unheard, his breathing soundless. Not even the grass rustled as he crouched amidst the stalks. 

One thug, a woman, leaned against a poplar tree. Another sat near the base of a dune, his eyes unfocused, as if daydreaming. The third thug was pacing around the center of the camp, just in front of where Bianca knelt. Percy wished he could send her a sign, let her know he was coming, but she seemed relatively unconcerned. Her eyes glittered, the corners of her mouth crooked up in an expression of confidence and calm. 

“No one’s going to pay the ransom,” she spat. “They’re all poor.” 

“Shut it!” the pacing thug retorted. 

Percy trained his eyes on her as he turned to face the daydreaming man. 

With a hiss as quiet as wind, he unsheathed _Anaklusmos_ from its place on his back. He tapped the blade against a nearby rock. A grainy _tap, tap, tap_ that only the man could hear. 

The thug sat up. “Did you hear that?” The woman shrugged.

The man stood. “Who’s there?” He whipped out his dagger and walked into the grass, merely an arm’s length away from where Percy hid. 

He darted his eyes to the other thugs. No one was watching. 

_Now._

He leapt up, twisting his blade in the air as he rose, catching the side of the man’s neck with the xiphos and forcing him to the ground. Before he could even gasp, _Anaklusmos_ sliced through his neck. Blood gushed, sinking into the soil and drenching Percy’s knees. Percy didn’t dare to exhale. 

Across the camp, the woman frowned. “Epiphanes? Where did you go?” In the tent, Percy saw Bianca’s eyes narrow. 

The woman pulled out a sword and strode to where Epiphanes had been lounging. Looking around, she walked into the grasses. “Epiphanes, you maláka, where--” 

Her bare foot sank into the warm, bloody soil. Percy waited. 

As if in slow motion, her head whirled around and she saw Epiphanes’ body. She gasped--

And Percy pounced, the palm of his hand crashing into the woman’s neck and toppling her. He punched her once in the diaphragm, stealing her breath, then--kneeling on her sternum for good measure--plunged his sword into her throat. He looked up. 

Bianca had seen him. 

Her eyes were wide, lips slightly parted. _Don’t scream,_ Percy prayed, _don't say anything,_ _just stay quiet…_

The last thug marched up to her, seizing her jaw in his meaty grip. “What are you trembling about?” He laughed, pushing her face to the side with such force she nearly fell over. “Isn’t your _falcon_ _bearer_ coming to save you? Didn’t you tell us--” He waved a hand in a grand gesture to his fellow thugs--then double-taked when he realized they weren’t there. 

A shadow fell over the sand, followed by the cry of a falcon. The man paled. “Epiphanes! Thaïs!” He turned in circles, looking for his comrades. 

“They’re not here.” 

Percy stood across from the man in the camp center, knuckles white on the grip of his xiphos. The thug stumbled back, as though he had seen a ghost. 

Percy raised _Anaklusmos_ , pointing the tip of the blade at his final enemy. “But don’t worry. I can deliver you to them.” 

The thug roared and seized a massive mace. The blunt end shone in the sunlight, and Percy knew one smack from that thing would break any bone it hit. Good thing he was fast. 

Percy lunged in close to his enemy, parrying the thug’s first swing. Sparks flew as his blade struck the mace’s head, sending the thug tumbling back. He recovered--a little too quickly--and swung the mace with a grunt. Percy dove to dodge the blow, somersaulting back to his feet behind his opponent. 

The thug twirled to face Percy, but the weight of his weapon slowed him down--Percy leapt forward and plunged his sword between two of the man’s ribs, earning a howl and a swift punch to the cheek. He tumbled with a groan, leaving _Anaklusmos_ buried in the thug’s side, clutching his face. He could hear Bianca scream.

The thug staggered, yanking out Percy’s sword and throwing it somewhere in the dust. Percy clambered across the ground, barely rolling out of the way in time as the thug slammed the mace into the dirt. 

His opponent grunted and wheezed, struggling to lift the mace again. Percy found the grip of his sword and grasped for it as the thug raised the mace for a final strike. Sucking in a breath, he flipped to the side, swinging the blade blindly behind him. 

_Anaklusmos_ sliced the thug’s abdomen, a thin, deep red arc. The thug seized in pain, his mace slipping from his fingers as he fell into the dirt. Percy stood, panting, watching to see if his enemy would rise. He didn’t. 

“Percy! I’m here! Untie me!” 

“I’m coming, Bianca,” he panted. Sheathing _Anaklusmos_ , He stumbled into the big tent, pulling a small paring knife from his belt and sawing through the ropes. He worked in silence for a moment, Bianca waiting patiently as the ropes fell away. 

“Are you all right?” Percy asked as Bianca stood. 

“It wasn’t so bad,” Bianca said with a smirk. “The last time I was kidnapped, they put a cloth in my mouth so I’d stop biting.” 

Percy chuckled, then pressed a hand to her shoulder. “Just...be careful, Bianca. You’re alone now, since…” 

“Since my mother died, my father left, and my brother completely disappeared?” She smiled at Percy’s grimace. “I’m okay, Percy! I have you and Mr. D. And you have us. We’re your family, right?” 

\-----

_“You’ll have to be stronger than that!”_

_A seven year old Percy lunged at his father with a fake spear. Paul laughed, batting it aside with his own fake spear. The two had been dueling in this way since lunch; now, the sun was setting, its stubborn light beating through the pines and houses of Sparta._

_“Don’t give in!” A woman laughed from the threshold of their house. “Let him have it!”_

_Percy leapt aside and swung at his father again. Paul easily blocked, smiling. Percy held the spear, waiting for the perfect moment to strike--_

_And then he was on the ground, face pressed against the dirt, his shins stinging. Someone had come up from behind him and swept his legs. He rolled onto his back and saw his mother, Sally, laughing above him, holding her own staff._

_“Mater, that’s cheating!”_

_Sally, still laughing, helped him to his feet. “I got you,” she teased._

_Paul nudged his shoulder. “Not cheating,” he grunted. “A Spartan should be ready for anything.” He raised a finger, and Percy saw Paul’s blue eyes glimmer with wisdom. “A Spartan rises as soon as they’ve fallen.”_

_Percy rolled his shoulders and clutched his staff. “I’m ready, pater.”_

_Paul nodded with a small smile as Sally sat once more upon the threshold of their mud-brick house. Paul stepped closer to his little opponent, tapping Percy’s knee with his spear. “Widen your stance,” he murmured. “A soldier is grounded and strong.”_

_Percy shifted his feet, digging into his heels. “Good,” Paul murmured. He pivoted to face Percy, spear at the ready. “Now, attack me!”_

_“Rahhhh!” With a tiny battle cry, Percy ran at his father and brought down the spear. Paul easily blocked, the force of his counterstrike nearly knocking Percy to the ground._

_“That’s enough!” Sally called, nonchalant and commanding at the same time--in the way only a mother could be. She stood up, brushing dust off her red skirts. “The sun is setting. I think it’s time to eat!”_

_That’s when Percy saw his sister walk up behind his mother. Four year-old Estelle clutched to Sally’s skirts, one tiny fist resting against her chin as she sucked on her knuckle. Her soft brown curls frizzed up around her face, and her wide blue eyes were clear and bright._

_Percy walked up to his mother. “What are we eating tonight?”_

_“Tonight,” Paul said, grinning, “we are eating Estelle!” He swooped down, scooping up Estelle and lifting her high into the air. She squealed with delight. “And what a feast she will be!”_

_“No, not her!” Percy laughed, reaching to grab his father’s elbows. “Take me instead! I’m tastier!”_

_“Yes, yes, you’re all sweet as honey,” Sally said, brushing her curly brown hair out of her face. “Now, come inside before the lamb burns!”_

_Paul released a final chuckle and set Estelle down next to Percy. “You will watch over her tonight?”_

_Percy nodded, taking his sister’s hand. He began to walk inside with her, until he heard Paul mutter, “Wait.”_

_Paul knelt before Percy, resting his hands on the boy’s shoulders. Percy waited, wide-eyed._

_“You,” Paul murmured, “are my greatest pride.” He gently touched Percy’s cheek. “Remember that.”_

_Percy searched his father’s eyes, finding nothing but love written in the crinkled corners. Paul nudged Percy’s shoulder. “Go.”_

_Percy walked inside with his sister, a smile nearly splitting his face in half. Paul paused, watching the sunset for a brief moment, then followed._

\-----

Percy smiled at Bianca. “Right.”

“You worry too much,” she teased, nearly prancing out of the tent.

“You don’t worry enough.” 

“Psh. We’re both going to be fine as long as we stick together.” She turned, pointing. “Which reminds me. The thugs said you should watch your back.”

Percy frowned. “Why? What’d they say?”

“The Cyclops put a _big_ bounty on you. Talos the Stone-Fist wants you dead.” 

“The mercenary?” Percy sighed, looking up at the sky. “Gods above.”

“And below,” Bianca said, finishing their little in-joke. Her black eyes glimmered. “I’ll find my way back into town. You stay safe, okay? I can’t protect you from someone as mean as Talos.” 

“Hmph. Worry more about yourself.” 

Bianca waved behind her, already running back to Mr. D’s vineyard. Percy could do nothing but follow.

  
  



	4. Methods, Results, and Justifications

Sami was a small town, and it was full of small-town people. In vibrant tunics of coarse fabric, they clucked their tongues as Percy awkwardly navigated Rota through the small streets and alleys. Shade was the best thing these streets had to offer; even the most lopsided mud buildings could offer that much. 

Percy dismounted as he approached the open-air market. He never liked this place. It was filled with a million distractions, assaulting every sense. The whole plaza was full of scattered canopies, decked with colorful, patched fabrics and sheltering shouting merchants. In the distance, he could hear the hammering of a blacksmith in his forge. The air smelled of clay, spices, and fish, and the market was so crowded he bumped shoulders with everyone who passed. 

“Focus,” he murmured to himself, “focus…” Places as dense and bright and chaotic as this always threw him off track--they had since he was little. He had no idea why. Clenching his fist, he looked for Duris’s stall. The potter was nearby. 

Duris straightened as Percy approached. A worn rug striped with purple and red was stamped into the dirt. Orange and black clay pots of all sizes lined the stall’s three sides, along with a workbench holding a few small bowls of paint. A black canopy shaded the potter, who looked more and more displeased with every step Percy took. “Chaire, misthios. Tell Mr. D if he wants his money, he ought to come down here himself. ” 

“Duris…” Percy put his hands on his hips, not knowing where to begin. “I need the money _now._ ” 

Duris threw up his hands. “I was a little late paying, and now your boss is saying I owe him _double_ because of interest! I don’t have it to spare!” 

“Double seems a bit much…” 

“It’s _robbery_! It’s--” 

Percy held up a hand, silencing Duris. “You know, if you just pay the money, this will all be over,” he said with a grimace. 

Duris clenched his fists. “No! I won’t bow to--to--to a mercenary! Or someone stupid enough to borrow money from the Cyclops!” 

Percy’s jaw dropped. “The Cyclops? That’s how he bought his vineyard?!” 

“Listen,” Duris said, rubbing his temples, “I know you’d be dead without him--what with him taking you in as a kid and all--but you and I know that what he’s doing is crazy.”

Percy bit his lip. He _needed_ that money--and it was his, rightfully. Mr. D had promised to pay him back when Duris paid _him_ back. Everything Percy owned was falling into disrepair--he needed drachmae for a million and one reasons. Duris had all the cash Percy would need to get his life in order. 

Duris also had a family. 

He sighed, groaning. “Alright. Forget the drachmae. Mr. D and I are going to have a little talk about this.”

Duris’s eyes softened. “Really?” 

“Yeah.” Gods above, he was making a huge mistake. He pivoted on his heel, stalking away before he did something rash. He really was going to be stuck as an inept creditor forever. Duris called after him, thanking him and offering him free pots; Percy merely raised his hand by way of farewell, trying not to pinch the bridge of his nose in front of all these people. 

_He borrowed money from a warlord? The_ Cyclops _?! The same Cyclops who’s terrorized Kephallonia?!_ Percy gritted his teeth, storming through the alleys of Sami so furiously that people leapt out of the stony streets to get out of his way. _Of all the stupid, suicidal things…_ He and Mr. D were going to have _lots_ to talk about. 

He stepped out of the shadow of the buildings, at the edge of Sami. A winding road, watched by a tall statue of Hermes, cut through the golden grasses and rolling hills. Farmers walked their wagons of wares into town alongside their cattle, nodding to Percy under the brims of their straw hats. A temple of Zeus stood just to the left. 

He took a deep breath. Maybe he should stop in, pray for restraint; Zeus may stay Percy’s hand, keep him from _throttling_ Mr. D back at the vineyard. 

He walked towards the temple, a masterpiece of woodwork. Red-painted pillars upheld the roof of dark wood and gray tiles. The entrance steps were littered with flower petals and smoking incense. A few priestesses lingered on these steps and around the temple, all wearing pensive looks as they talked with worshippers. The sun, creeping towards the horizon--was the day almost over already?--struck the small statue capping the temple entrance. It was a modest temple, but still stood as the grandest building in Sami. 

Percy walked to the stone steps, his toes touching the base of the first one. Maybe he should pray. Give thanks. Leave an offering. Ask for guidance. 

But he just couldn’t enter. 

He sighed and turned around, rubbing the back of his neck. What was wrong with him? 

“You’re running out of time, maláka. Don’t think the Cyclops won’t come for his money!”

Percy whipped his head to the right. There, a stone’s throw from the temple pillars, a gigantic man was pointing a thick finger in Mr. D’s face.

Somehow, Mr. D looked unconcerned. “I don’t suppose he’d give me an extension.” 

The giant man--an armored brute with long, ratty hair, his small eyes buried in his pudgy face--cracked his knuckles. “When the Cyclops sails back to Kephallonia, he will break you the moment he docks!” 

Mr. D sighed, holding up his hands. “Really, can we be civil about this?” 

“You can’t hide behind your misthios forever, maláka. The Cyclops will kill you, him, and that little runt girl he hangs around.” 

Percy clenched his fist. The only thing keeping him from stepping in was the wicked hope that this brute would scare Mr. D into making good decisions. 

No such luck. Mr. D rolled his eyes at the threat. “I’ll get the drachmae. Now--” 

“Good!” The brute sneered. “I can’t wait to watch the Cyclops feed you to his goats!” 

Mr. D raised a single incredulous brow as the brute stalked away. Percy immediately replaced him, stepping out of the shadow of the temple and right into Mr. D’s face. 

“Ah, Philandros,” Mr. D said with a deadpan expression. “I can tell from that smile on your face that Duris gave you the drachmae.” 

“Who’s smiling? Duris told me where you got the drachmae to buy that vineyard.” Percy threw up his hands. “Are you out of your damn mind?” 

“We’ll get the money,” Mr. D said, nonchalantly waving his hand. “Won’t we?” 

“I don’t think we have a choice.” Percy crossed his arms. “We need a plan.” 

“That’s what I do best.” 

“No, it isn’t.” 

Mr. D rolled back his head as if pleading with the heavens. “I long for the good old days. Remember how simple they were? You had nothing--young and alone--and I had everything. I gave you Kephallonia--this whole island in the palm of your hand!” He shook his head. “And you repay me with this--this _attitude_. And now look at us.” Mr. D frowned. “You’ve brought me to the brink, kid.” 

\-----

_Eight year-old Percy lay at the foot of a mountain--no, a cliff. A cliff that was part of a mountain. Which mountain? Taygetos. Mount Taygetos._

_He felt warm and sticky liquid sliding down the back of his neck. His head...he’d been struck in the back of the head._

_The world was spinning around him. All he could see was the moon--two moons, sometimes three, his vision was doubling so badly--full, like a ripe fruit he could reach for and pluck from the sky. Sparse tree branches pierced the night sky above him. Cold, damp dirt pressed into his back and arms. He could feel small, sharp stones digging into the skin that his tunic left exposed._

_Pain. Every pain he had felt before in his life had been an ache or a sting, but this pain--this pain burned. It burned through his scratched legs, his crooked left arm, his dislocated right shoulder. It pressed at his neck like a yoke. All of the pain culminated and gathered in the back of his head. He felt an emptiness there, a gaping--perhaps a hole straight through the bone. Was it his brain, hot and sticky, that was leaking in chunks down his neck? The pain was the worst there, beating and burning through his head, as if catching and eddying on the shards of his skull…_

_How had he gotten here?_

_He must be dying._

_How did he die?_

_“PERCY!” His mother’s voice wailed down the side of the cliff, echoing into the night. She was sobbing, screaming. Percy wanted to look up the cliff, to find the torches that lit the cliff’s edge, where his mother stood, but it hurt to move his eyes. It hurt to raise his voice. It hurt to cry._

_The burning was dissolving, replaced by a soft coldness that settled over his whole body. He took a breath, watching his chest shakily rise and fall. This was it. Tears leaked out of his eyes. He watched the two moons dance above him and allowed himself to fade._

_Footsteps like muffled drums sprinted towards him. Percy couldn’t move his eyes enough to see who was approaching him; he waited for the owner of those slapping sandals to reach him. Maybe he would be gone before this newcomer found him._

_A boy, his age, knelt beside him, his face coming into view as he hovered over Percy. He had dark brown skin and coily black hair, and he was dressed very strangely. The white fabric of his clothes weren’t made of wool, like Greek tunics--it seemed thinner, lighter. The boy’s jewelry glinted in the moonlight: golden armbands around his slender wrists, a broad golden collar with inlaid gemstones wrapping his chest and shoulders, a silver band across his brow. His brown eyes were wide, worried._

_A voice called out, echoing through the spindly trees. “Carter! Ma hdha?”_

_“Wajadat shakhsaan,” Carter replied, his voice softer. He raised a shaking hand to his mouth. “Aleumu…hdha sayi’.”_

_Percy heard the other voice gasp as it grew nearer. “Nahn bihajat 'iilana wadeah fi alma',” he commanded. “Alan!”_

_Percy felt strong hands lift him off the ground, and immediately blacked out._

_He remembered only two things about the following moments: The feeling of water seeping into his clothes, and Carter’s voice. He was speaking in Greek; Percy understood him when he said, “This is the only way I can help you.”_

_Then he was on a tiny boat, being pitched about a stormy sea. His previously injured limbs were healed, furiously pulling on ropes as the dinghy was tossed amidst ten-foot waves. The maw in the back of his head burned, wrapped in linen bandages. He flinched at every splash of seawater, thinking the salty water would aggravate the already horrific wound, but somehow, the water seemed to be helping. As rain fell like stones, Percy somehow managed to keep the boat afloat--thanks in part to Carter, who baled out water from the raft, clutching the side of the boat so hard his knuckles were white._

_Percy yanked at a rope, and the small sail jerked. “How much farther?!” he yelled over the thunder._

_“We’re close!” Carter gasped. “The island--”_

_There was a crack of lightning, white and sharp, and what must have been a thirty-foot wave gathered behind the boat. Percy screamed and grabbed the mast as Carter bolted to his side. There was a flash of light and a rustling of feathers as Percy was lifted out of the boat; seconds later, the raft was crushed by the waves. Disoriented, Percy couldn’t see what was carrying him, couldn’t find Carter, but he could hear wings flapping and a falcon cry--_

_The wave was catching up with them. No matter how furiously the falcon flapped his wings, he couldn’t get above it--he screeched, Percy screamed, and they fell, as though slapped by the cap of the wave, into the bosom of the ocean._

_Sunlight. Sand. Some squeaky-voiced gulls._

_Percy opened his eyes._

_The beach was warm, welcoming. Little waves lapped at his ankles; their touch seemed to tense his muscles, fill him with strength and energy. Groaning, he got onto all fours, his whole body aching and exhausted._

_“Carter…?” His voice was a rasp. There was no sign of his new friend--not even a piece of jewelry brought in by the tide._

_Percy collapsed into the sand, too tired to move. Carter must have drowned. He heard a falcon chirp overhead, saw its shadow glide over the rippling beach._

_A blurry silhouette crept towards him--a man, dressed in fine robes. His hair was dark--so dark it almost seemed purple--and his skin was bronze. He walked towards Percy with a curious grin. “Don’t see fishes like you every day, huh?” he murmured. “I seem to have a knack for finding people abandoned on islands…”_

_Percy leapt to his feet, raising his hands into the fighting stance his father taught him. The stranger did nothing but chuckle. His gaze travelled from the soggy bandages falling into Percy’s eyes to his bare feet. He held out a hunk of bread. “Hungry?”_

_Percy trembled. Slowly, he reached for the food._

_The stranger drew back his hand, raising the bread out of reach. “How about we make a deal, hm?” His voice was soft, almost gentle, and the knowing twinkle in his eye kept Percy from just snatching the bread and running. “I do something for you, you do a few things for me. Everybody wins.”_

_Percy frowned._

_“Best offer you’re gonna get, kid.”_

_Percy said nothing. The man slowly turned around and walked away._

_Percy clenched his hands into tiny fists. “Wait!”_

_He ran after the man, reaching for the bread. The man laughed, giving it to him, then putting a hand on his head. As Percy stuffed the bread in his mouth, he wondered vaguely what he’d gotten himself into._

_Silent as a shadow, the falcon followed._

\-----

“Kephallonia,” Percy scoffed. “Some gift.” 

“Please,” Mr. D replied. “You’d be nothing without me. And look at how far you’ve come.”

Percy rolled his eyes. “From some kid on a beach to some misthios with a hovel.” 

“Exactly.” 

“And now the Cyclops is going to take it all away.” Percy glared into Mr. D’s eyes. “I can’t protect you from him forever.”

“I’m not afraid of him.” 

“That’s the problem!” 

Mr. D straightened, his chest puffing as if preparing for either a mighty retort or a laughing fit. Before Percy could find out which he was in for, a merchant caught sight of them from the road and raced up to the temple to meet them, looking huffy. “There you are!” she cried. “Skulking around a temple won’t save you from me, Mr. D.” 

“Drucilla! I was just talking about you.” 

Percy raised a brow. “You were?” 

“I need that wood you owe me, mister,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. Her silver hair glinted like iron, and her dark eyes shone like sharp pieces of flint. “These new bows will be the talk of the island, but I can’t make anything with those bandit malákes stopping the island’s wood shipments.”

“Of course you can’t,” Mr. D said amicably. “Why, I was just filling my friend Panos here in on the details. He has a plan to deal with those bandits!” 

Drucilla’s eyes snapped to Percy’s face, sizing him up. He grimaced. “You know me. Always prepared.” 

Mr. D slapped Percy’s back, grinning like a salesman. “What’d I tell you?” 

“Ugh,” Drucilla snarled. “I don’t care _who_ does it, but someone needs to gut those bandits. Today.” 

“A wonderful idea. I will be going home now--and our friend Pamphilos here will get your bandit problem all sorted.” He winked at Percy, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I might have a plan for our Cyclops dilemma,” he muttered. “See me when you find the time.” 

Percy shrugged off his hand, nodding. With that, Mr. D strolled away, carefree. It was infuriating. 

Percy turned to Drucilla. They stared at each other for a moment, like two wild animals stalking each other. “I’ll get you your wood,” Percy said at last, “if you fix my bow.” 

Drucilla laughed, the croaky sound not unlike a cawing crow. “Fine. Normally, I don’t pay until the deed is done, but shit’s moving at a snail’s pace.” She walked towards her shop, gesturing for Percy to follow. 

They walked together through the dust and heat of Sami. Carter swooped down, coming to rest on Percy’s leather-bound wrist; Drucilla jumped at the falcon’s sudden appearance, then laughed her crow’s laugh again. “How do you have a bird like that?”

“I don’t have him.” Percy rubbed Carter’s head, and he chirped. “He’s a friend.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. Ancient Egyptians didn't speak Arabic. They spoke Coptic. I know.
> 
> But all of the Coptic translators I found online simply...did not work. They were trash. So I tried to use Arabic, but I chose to spell it phonetically. Which basically eliminates any chance you guys had of translating it. 
> 
> And I felt bad about that. So here's what I tried to write in phonetically-spelled-Arabic: 
> 
> Unknown: ما هذا؟ (What is it?)  
> Carter: وجدت شخصا. عمي هذا سيء. (I found someone. Uncle...this is bad.)  
> Unknown: نحن بحاجة إلى إيصاله إلى الماء. الآن! (We need to get him to the water. Now!)
> 
> Sorry for...all of that. 
> 
> I'm glad you're sticking around for the story!


	5. Lumbering Along

Percy trudged along the path that edged the western coast of Sami. This path was shady, colorful, lined with dark green trees and tinted with pinks and reds as the sun began to set. The tips of the trees shook, smattered with birdsong and the beginnings of a sea breeze. A single buck galloped through the dense trees, his hooves clattering against the stony soil.

Percy rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t brought Rota; he thought the walk would invigorate him, wake him up a little after such a long day. The ocean air helped--something about the salt seemed to lift his chin and quicken his step, like caffeine--but that was all he had going for him. His eyes drooped with weariness, and his forearms ached from swinging his sword. He reeked of drying blood and sweat. Maybe he should leave Drucilla’s bandit problem for tomorrow...going home and collapsing into bed was sounding much more appealing at the moment.

Carter cried, snapping Percy out of his reverie. He glanced to the sky, smirking at his bird friend. “What?”

The falcon swooped down, sinking his talons into the leather armband around Percy’s wrist: a perch just for him. Percy grunted, his fingers spasming at Carter’s sudden weight. “Are your wings as tired as mine?”

Carter chirped.

“How’ve you been, man?” Percy nudged Carter’s chest with a crooked finger. “You’ve been eating?”

He chirped again, nipping at Percy’s finger.

“And how does the great Pharaoh dine in Kephallonia? On mice? Roaches?”

The falcon made a little kak-kak-kak sound, almost like a laugh, then took flight once more, hovering just behind Percy, out of sight but not earshot. Percy harrumphed as he heard Carter’s wings against the air.

“Pretty sure these bandits are camping out in the western harbor,” Percy called to the falcon. “That’s where the smaller wood shipments from Messenia come in. And then they travel up this road…” He gestured to the path he was walking on. “...all the way to the towns, in little wagons.” He frowned. “This harbor is spread out along the beach, and only really small boats can dock. Not as grand as Sami--if you could call that grand...there won’t be much cover. No matter what Drucilla wants, I can’t just charge in and slay every bandit. I’ll be outnumbered. I’ll have to be sneaky...make a plan…” He sighed. “I am so bad at plans.”

After a moment of contemplative quiet, he waved his hand to the sky with a laugh. “Honestly, I hope no one overheard any of that. I don’t know why I talk like you listen to me.”

“I do listen to you.”

Percy wasn’t a man who could be easily spooked, but the sound of that voice made him jump four feet in the air. He whirled around, pressing a hand to his chest. “Gods above, Carter…”

Carter was laughing--really laughing, not kak-kak-kak-ing. The young pharaoh was human once more. No longer dressed in falcon feathers, his lean frame was swathed in white linen--a wrapped skirt (Carter had said it was called a shendyt), and a thin, translucent white shirt, the hems of both tucked into a blue and black beaded belt. A leather band, ornamented with a small lapis-lazuli scarab, rested above his brow, and a gold pendant in the shape of an eye-symbol hung around his neck. “The look on your face, old friend…”

Percy playfully shoved Carter’s shoulder. “Where was this glorious transformation when I was trying to save Bianca?”

“Ah,” Carter batted Percy’s hand away with a weary chuckle. “With every change, it gets harder and harder to...shift back into a person.” His voice, tinged with an Arabic accent, was low and soft with tiredness. Percy frowned, noticing the bags and redness under and in Carter’s eyes.

“Hey,” he said gently, “you can stay as a person, you know. No need to make it harder on yourself.” He cocked his head. “Is something wrong with your magic or...something?”

“Not with my magic.” He nodded to the road, and the pair began walking again. “With me. Ever since Horus left me, the transformations have been more difficult, more complicated--a huge drain on my energy.”

“Oh. Who’s Horus?”

Carter side-eyed Percy. “Just one of the gods, uh, across the pond.”

“A god? You were dating a god?”

Carter nearly stopped in his tracks, he double-taked so hard. “What? No, I wasn’t dating a god!”

“You said he left you!”

“Yeah, as in he, like…” He snapped his fingers, trying to think of a word to describe his relationship with Horus. “...left my body.”

Percy furrowed his brows quizzically. “Gotcha.”

Carter laughed, pushing Percy’s chest. “Come on. Gods don’t consort with mortals like that.”

“Maybe in Egypt they don’t. Welcome to Greece.” He nudged Carter’s arm. “But back to the matter at hand. If transforming’s so hard now, why not just stay as a person for the next few months? I could use the company.”

“Right. Because it’s so peachy to be an Egyptian in Greece.”

Percy raised a brow. “It can’t be that bad.”

“No, it definitely could be worse. But it could be better, too.” He sighed, fiddling with the band wrapped around his head. “I don’t need that extra attention--and neither do you.”

“Look, man, if it’s hurting you...maybe you should, I don’t know, stay home. You could send me a letter, I would understand.”

Carter smirked. “Don’t be ridiculous. I spend every summer with you.”

“I know, I know, but you must ignore your untameable, passionate love for me for the sake of your health.”

Carter shoved him, laughing. “You don’t know--maybe I come for the weather, stupid.”

“Make any excuse you must to deal with the heartbreak…”

Carter punched at him playfully, but Percy dodged the pretend blows and wrapped his arms around Carter’s neck in a light chokehold. Laughing, the two stumbled down the road as Carter tried to break free. They looked up and froze in their tracks.

There was a toppled wagon in the road, a few hundred feet ahead of them, and a bloodied corpse near the trunk of a tree. Percy released Carter, the pair too stunned to speak. They ran up to the wagon, as if they could help. Percy knelt beside the body as Carter studied the wagon.

“Whatever they were transporting is gone,” he murmured. “It’s empty.”

Percy lightly touched the shaft of the arrow embedded in the body’s chest. It was an older man, with worn hands and balding hair. Percy closed the victim’s eyes. “You think it was an ambush?”

“I’m certain.” Carter gestured to some tracks in the road. “This wagon was coming from the south--it must have been trying to deliver something to the western harbor. The bandits got to it first.”

Percy stood. “We must be close, then.”

Carter nodded. “I should go up and scout out the surroundings.”

“Like...up a tree?” Percy’s eyes widened as he realized what Carter meant. He clutched his wrist. “Wait, no. Not as a falcon.”

Carter rolled his eyes, twisting out of Percy’s grip. “Be practical. I’m your eyes in the sky.”

“We don’t know if you’ll be able to shift back. And I’m gonna need your help fighting these guys off--the camp is far too open, I could be easily surrounded.”

“You want to go in blind?”

Percy pointed at his own face. “I have eyes, man. I could just as easily climb a tree and scope out the area myself.”

Carter gave Percy a long look. Then he reached into the air, pulling a curved sword--a khopesh--out of nothingness.

Percy tried to keep his eyes from bugging out of his skull. “New trick?”

“Hardly.” Carter fought a grin. “We’ll do it your way, misthios. I have your back.”

A few minutes and a hundred fifty meters later, Carter waited, arms crossed, as Percy clambered down a tree trunk. “How does it look?”

Percy leaned against the tree, eyes squinted in a focused expression. “There are three guys huddled in that patch of trees, to the left, in a small camp. There are four more on the beach, including the captain on the dock.”

“How do you know they’re the captain?”

“They’re the strongest. The meanest. Shiniest armor. I have years of experience, I can tell.”

“Did you see Drucilla’s wood shipment? We ought to bring that to her.”

“Yeah, it’s in--” he stretched his arms horizontally, “--this big red crate, on the docks.”

“Okay…” Carter tapped his chin, thinking. “You sneak down to that crate and grab some of the wood. I’ll take care of the bandits near the trees, so that if you’re spotted, the ones on the beach can’t call for reinforcements. Once you’ve snatched the wood, we leave. Questions?”

“You would leave me all alone on a beach crawling with four mean bandits?”

“I thought you could handle it, Mr. Years Of Experience.”

“Touché. Drucilla asked me to kill these guys, not just recover some wood. How do you suggest I take on four guys at once?”

“Don’t. Take them on one at a time, quietly.”

Percy sighed. “Your plan really seems to rely on me having a lot of good luck.”

“I am open to other ideas.”

He rubbed his eyes. “I have no other ideas.”

“I figured.”

“ _Hey_.”

“Ready?”

Percy unsheathed Anaklusmos. “Ready.”

Carter crouched and darted into the brush. Between the shadiness of all the trees and the dense grasses, Percy barely saw Carter at all--like he disappeared.

Percy wouldn’t have the luxury of stealth on the beach. There were no trees or grasses on the wide-open sand, only a few crates, piles of nets, and small scattered tents to shelter more valuable goods. But these were so spread out, he’d be seen trying to duck between them.

He sighed, flipping Anaklusmos a few times in his hand. He’d have to try. No matter how terrible the circumstances were for sneaking around, it was better than strutting in and being slaughtered by four guys at once.

He crept down the path to the beach, keeping to the right side, his eyes focused on the left as he waited for Carter to hit those three bandits among the trees. He ducked behind a crate, his feet sinking into the soft sand as he scanned the harbor. The captain was still standing on the docks, back turned as she watched the sea. Another bandit paced along the docks, eyes darting between the fish traps and burlap sacks, as if they would suddenly disappear. The final two were sitting on the beach, eating something. Percy slowly walked towards them, crouching behind the sparse barrels.

He had just ducked behind a pile of nets--merely three meters away from his targets--when one of them sat up straighter. “Did you hear something?”

The other one frowned. “I thought it was just the windchime.”

The first bandit nudged the other’s shoulder, rising to his feet. “Get up.” They drew their swords, walking to the net pile.

Well. Cover blown. Percy leapt forward, plunging his xiphos into a bandit’s chest and yanking it out. Before his victim was on the ground, he whirled onto the other one, his sword clanging into his opponent’s readied blade.

The bandit roared in outrage, swinging at Percy’s neck. He barely dodged, staggering back into the open. The bandit dove upon him once more, his fury keeping Percy on the defensive; each of them managed to strike a few good jabs at the other, but neither would admit defeat.

Percy gritted his teeth as he parried his opponent’s blows, his eyes wandering to the docks. Neither of the other two bandits had noticed them yet, but the way this fight was going, it wouldn’t be long before--

The pacing thug looked up. He saw them struggling to slay each other and drew his own sword, running towards the fray. The captain hadn’t seen anything yet, completely lost in thought.

The bandit Percy was fighting took notice of his distractedness and plunged his sword into Percy’s shoulder. He cried out, his voice guttural with pain, and sliced at his enemy with even greater fervor. His shoulder burned--every movement felt like hot pokers stabbing into the wound; his entire arm stiffened and numbed as blood trickled down his bicep. Anaklusmos dully thwacked at the bandit’s armor, unable to pierce the thug. Percy could do little more than duck and dodge as his opponent slashed at him.

The bandit was gloating. As Percy stumbled, falling back into the sand, the bandit laughed, beckoning to his friend who was racing up from the docks. “Nikostratos! Let us gut this intruder!”

Nikostratos released a battle cry, grinning as he sprinted to where Percy lay collapsed in the sand. Percy struggled, trying to stand, but the bandit looming over him kicked his shins and he fell once more. Nikostratos was mere feet away, sword raised--Percy flipped onto his back, trying to crawl, but the bandit smacked his calves with the flat of his blade and he stilled. He closed his eyes, flinching.

 _Thwack_.

Percy slowly raised his head. The very air was still, as if the anemoi were shocked at the scene before them: an arrow embedded in Nikostratos’s chest. The arrow was so deep in the thug’s chest, Percy could see the pointy end, coated in bright red blood, poking out of his back. His face was the picture of shock--eyes wide, mouth a perfect ‘o’--as he collapsed, sword dropping from his hand with a weighty _thunk_.

The other bandit’s hand shook. He pivoted, looking for the archer who killed his friend. The last thing he saw was Carter, bow drawn, firing an arrow between his eyes. The bandit fell backwards, head tipped, blood trickling in a small, steady stream down the bridge of his nose.

Percy sighed, his muscles relaxing with relief as Carter slung the bow over his shoulder. The pharaoh made his way to where Percy lay, brow furrowed. “That was embarrassing.”

“What do you mean? You were great.”

“I meant embarrassing for _you_.”

Percy rolled his eyes. “I totally had them.”

“Mm.” Carter held out a hand. “You’re welcome.”

Percy took it, then cried out as Carter pulled him to his feet. His shoulder gushed with blood. “I think my arm is going to fall off,” Percy hissed through gritted teeth.

“Don’t be dramatic,” Carter chided, but his eyes were narrow with worry. “Let me see…”

Percy gently pushed away his reaching hands. “Let’s get the captain,” he said, breathing heavily. “Then you can weep over my battle scars like a...distraught wife…” He grinned as Carter scoffed, whipping out his khopesh.

Together, the two strided down the beach towards the docks. No point in hiding now--the captain was turning, taking in the gory sight of her slaughtered men, snarling as she stalked towards the pair. Her grip on her spear was tight with rage.

Percy’s sandals just touched the end of the dock when the captain lunged. Her spear nearly grazed his side, but Percy twisted out of the way just in time. He slashed at her arm, but she had already turned and parried before the blade could connect. _She’s good_ , Percy thought. _Probably why she’s the captain_.

Carter had better luck--getting up close to the enemy, he jabbed his khopesh up, and the curved blade cut through the back of her shoulder. She howled, smacked him with the side of her spear with enough force to send him tumbling down the dock, nearly into the water.

Seeing an opening, Percy swung Anaklusmos, scoring her back with two deep red cuts before she could turn. She whirled, shouting, driving her spear towards his neck; Percy forced himself backwards, nearly hitting his head on the edge of a crate as he careened out of the way of the spear’s tip.

Carter rose, springing forward to plunge his khopesh into her neck, but in the blink of an eye she batted his blade aside. Swooping forward, she grabbed Carter’s neck, one strong hand enough to snare the pharaoh in a stranglehold. She lifted him off the ground as Carter pulled at her hand in vain. His kicks and gasping breaths did not move her; she waited for him to suffocate with the same indifference that a fisherman watches the final struggling flops of a dying fish.

The perfect opening.

Holding Anaklusmos in both hands, Percy roared and surged forward, plunging the blade right between her shoulder blades. The tip of the xiphos emerged through her chest, straight through her sternum. She wheezed as Percy pulled out his sword, dropping Carter, stumbling, staggering, tipping...and falling into the sea, the water blooming red around her floating body.

Not wasting a second, Percy knelt beside a panting Carter. “That was embarrassing.”

Not having the air nor patience, Carter released a single emphatic “ _ugh_.”

“No, I meant embarrassing for _you_.” The smugness radiated from his smile as he held his face in his hand. “You’re welcome.”

Carter weakly shoved in his direction as he clambered to all fours. “If I wasn’t...such a gentleman…” he panted, “I’d…”

“You’d what? You can’t even stand.” Percy shifted his weight, concerned. “Can you?”

Carter gave another “ugh” as he slowly got to his feet. “Apparently so.”

Percy stood as well, pressing a hand to his shoulder. Carter surveyed the wound with a grim smile. “You think if we paid the Sami doctor double, he won’t report us to the phylakitai for, uh, ‘suspicious injuries’?”

Percy patted his back weakly. “Get your head on straight, man. There are no phylakitai in Greece. That’s a...that’s a ‘you’ thing.” He looked up at the sky with a chuckle as the two walked back to the beach. “Besides, we don’t need a doctor. Look at us, we’re obviously fine.”

“Oh, obviously.”

“You should see the other guys.”

Carter laughed hoarsely. “Let’s get that wood for your bowyer friend.”

They found the red crate and grabbed the many bundles of light wood. “There has to be a better way to do this,” Carter said, face smooshed against the five cumbersome bundles he was hugging to his chest.

Percy snickered at the sight--not that he was much better. “Maybe…” He gave a long, sharp whistle. They waited.

Not more than five seconds later, Rota came galloping up to Percy’s side. Carter gaped as the misthios started loading the bundles onto Rota’s back. “You left that horse in _Sami_. The _other side_ of the _island_.”

Percy was just as flabbergasted, but he did his best to hide it. “Yep.”

“How--how did it hear you? How did it get here this fast?”

“Um. Magic?”

Carter shook his head. “Must be…” After a brief hesitation, he too tied his bundles to Rota’s back.

After the wood was secure, Percy decided to try something else. He walked to the horse’s face, putting a hand on Rota’s nose. “Will you take this wood back to Sami?”

The horse huffed, eyes glinting.

“To the Temple of Zeus? The building with red pillars?” Drucilla would be waiting for it there.

Rota ducked his head as if nodding.

“Okay.” Percy stepped out of the way, and Rota trotted up to the road, turning in the direction of Sami. Percy faced Carter, whose shoulders were slumped with complete dumbfoundedness. He put his hands on his hips. “Still think camels are better than horses?”

“I stand by that,” Carter murmured distractedly. “How in the name of Ra…”

“Honestly, no clue,” Percy said. “It’s the weirdest thing--I just feel like that horse understands me. You know?”

Carter turned to him. “I’ve seen crazier things.”

Percy chuckled, beckoning him forward. “Let’s head back, give Kephallonia the good news.”

“The western harbor is back in business,” Carter said with a smile. He peered up towards the road, his carefree expression quickly darkening. “Percy.”

“What?”

“Do you know that man?”

Percy followed his gaze. Slowly stepping down from the road was the silhouette of a hulking man. His thick leather armor was studded with silver, weapons of all kinds--warhammers, axes, quivers, swords, spears--strapped to his back, clinking together as he walked. His hair, the same gray-brown color of mouse fur, curled to his shoulders, held in place by a gold band around his forehead. Despite his terrifying frame, his fair skin was smooth and unscarred, his light eyes clear and focused: the image of precision. Someone who didn’t often lose.

Percy inhaled. He exhaled. “Shit.”

“Tell me who that is, Percy.”

“It’s Talos.”

“...Talos the Stone-Fist? The one Bianca said the Cyclops hired to kill you?”

“The very same.”

Carter shifted into a fighting stance as the unafraid Talos approached, slow, strong, and inevitable as a glacier. “You’ve prepared for this, right?” he murmured. “You didn’t forget Talos was after you?”

Percy had totally forgotten Talos was after him. “Of course not.”

“How are we going to handle this?”

Percy looked around. There were no other options. Talos was blocking the only exit. “We have to fight him.”

“We’re going to lose.”

“Yeah.”

“We’re going to lose very badly.”

Percy grimaced, adjusting his grip on his sword. “Yep.”

Carter gave him a long look. “Okay. On three?”

“One.”

“Two.”

They surged forward, blades poised, not daring to shout a battle cry. Talos grinned, grabbing a battle axe and running to meet them. He swung the battle axe, striking only air--Percy slid under the blade to slash at Talos’s legs while Carter leapt up to strike his face. The two tumbled out of the way after their attacks, on their feet to brace for Talos’s next move.

The juggernaut barely flinched at their jabs, turning to face them, one groomed eyebrow arched. He looked Percy up and down. “The Cyclops told me I’d have to prepare for this fight,” he said softly. “That you would be a formidable opponent.”

He whipped out a throwing knife, launching it at Percy’s nose. The misthios threw himself to the side with a yelp. Talos shook his head. “I must say, I’m disappointed.”

“Sorry you feel that way,” Percy spat, circling Talos. “Why don’t you come back later, yeah? When I’m in _fighting form_. That’d be more exciting for you.”

Talos chuckled, then drove down the blade of an axe, aiming to split Percy’s head. Percy raised his xiphos, unsure if he could block the power of the incoming blow, but before the contact could be made--

Carter dove at Talos, tackling him from the side. Caught off guard, the mercenary was toppled, falling into the sand with an “oof”.

In an instant, Carter leapt back to his feet. “Percy, you need to go.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

Carter swung his khopesh at Talos as he got to his feet. He parried it away with a snarl, his fist coming around to sock Carter in the face; barely twisting out of the way, Carter drove the curved blade into a chink in his armor, in the flesh just above the hip. Talos roared.

“Go!” Carter shouted. “I’ll hold him off for as long as I can--I’ll find you later!”

“No! You’re out of your mind!” Percy’s eyes darted, searching for an opening. He tried to rush in and slice Anaklusmos along Talos’s inner thigh, but Talos smacked Percy across the face with the flat of his axe, and the misthios went flying. His shoulder screamed and throbbed as it slammed into the ground. With a yelp, Percy clutched at his face, feeling a thin red slice along his jawline.

Carter whirled around Talos, nailing him with small nicks and cuts. He was fast, easily dodging Talos’s wild swings. Percy tried to stand, but he was seeing double; he caught the blurry afterimage of Carter seizing a hammer from Talos’s back and crashing the blunt end into his enemy’s face. Talos staggered back, crying out--Percy saw a spray of blood, like a cloud of smoke…

Carter filled his vision. “GO! You have to--it’s you he wants. I’ll catch up!” He pushed Percy towards the road, already running back to face a recovering Talos. “GO!”

Percy clenched his teeth and started walking, running--then falling, then rising, running again, sprinting. His shoulder ached and sobbed. His neck was slimy with sweat and the blood trickling from his jaw. His feet hit the hard dirt of the road and he took off to Sami, the darkening sky hiding him. The trees jerked back and forth as he ran--was that the wind, or the blood rushing in his ears?--and the night air was lighting up with stars and howling wolves--how had he forgotten about Talos? He could hear the mercenary’s shouts from here--he was too close--Percy ducked to the left, off the road and into the brush and evergreen trees--a shortcut. He would cut directly east, he just had to make it to Mr. D--Talos would assume he’d gone to Sami to find a doctor, it was the perfect place to hide.

The ground was steepening as he hit the foothills of Mount Ainos--he was so, so close. Then he heard the snapping twigs, the barks, the stunted howls: wolves, to his right. Without looking, without thinking, he changed directions, climbing upwards more and more, higher into the night.

He passed the treeline--he was really climbing the mountain now. The ground of gray stone was covered in grasses that shone silver in the moonlight, like the head of a balding corpse. He fell, grunting as his hands hit the hard ground, then staggered back to his feet. He was almost at the short peak. Lightning Zeus stood, tall as a second mountain, tall as the Parthenon, glowering down at him, lightning rod poised to strike--

Percy’s feet were failing him. Black dots, pounding into his eyes like explosions, were swarming him. His groans of pain morphed into whimpers as he slowed, placing a hand on Zeus’s foot. He threw himself behind the statue’s foot, under Zeus, the closest thing to shelter and safety he’d have for miles, and he did something he didn’t do often: he prayed.

_Save Carter._

_Tell my father I forgive him._

_Tell my mother I love her._

_Tell my sister I’m sorry._

_What will happen to me?_

The moon was doubling, tripling. A ripe fruit. He could pluck it from the sky.

His head lolled. He heard a falcon cry. The sound split his skull. He closed his eyes and everything, every thought, every prayer, every moon he could see, was gone.

Something brushed against the scratch on his jaw. Someone.

Percy took a deep breath. He felt his chest rise and fall. He didn’t want to open his eyes--he didn’t want to be awake yet.

There was a coolness in his shoulder: a tired ache instead of a burning pain. His head...something was throbbing behind his eyes. That hurt. His muscles were so tired from sword-swinging, from running. Yet, there was a feeling of safety, of warmth--from the rising sun.

He opened his eyes. “...Bianca?”

She was kneeling beside him in the shadow of Lightning Zeus. Sunlight glimmered along her flyaway strands of hair, giving her a small yellow halo against the pink sky. Her black eyes were tired, but smiling gently. “What sort of trouble did you get into?”

Percy tried to sit up, but Bianca pressed him back into the ground. “Try to rest for a little while. You look like hell.”

Percy huffed. “Language.” His voice was rough.

“‘Hell’ isn’t as bad as ‘maláka’.”

“ _Language_.”

She chuckled quietly. There was a moment of restful silence. Then: “I patched you up as best I could. Those are healing herbs under your bandages--” she tapped his shoulder, which was swathed in white fabric, “--they should be numbing some of the pain.”

“How did you find me?”

She looked up. Sitting on Zeus’s foot was a familiar-looking falcon. “Ikaros woke me up. I’d never seen him so nervous. I followed him here. I didn’t want to leave you, but I had to get help, so I ran to Sami--you know it’s not far--and I bought some herbs and bandages--Euterpe taught me which ones to use two years ago, I think. After you broke your leg.”

Percy frowned. “Did Mr. D foot the bill for that?”

She shook her head. “He still doesn’t know where you are. After I came back from Sami, I didn’t leave again. Should I have fetched someone?”

“No--no. You did all the right things, Bianca. Thank you. But how did you pay for herbs?”

“It was the funniest thing…” She looked up at the falcon again. “Do you know where Ikaros would’ve gotten a beaded belt?”

Percy stared at the bird, eyes soft. “I have an idea.”

“He plopped it into my hands just after we got to Sami. I traded it for the stuff. A good thing, too--I didn’t have a good plan, other than begging the alchemist, or stealing.”

“I’m glad it worked out,” Percy murmured. “I’m glad Ikaros could help you.”

Bianca let him rest in peace for a minute more. Then she asked, “What happened to you?”

“I fought some bandits for Drucilla. One of them got me good in the shoulder. And then…”

“And then what?”

He met her eyes. “You remember Talos?”

“Talos the Stone-Fist?” Before Percy could nod, she gasped, fingers pressed to her lips. “Don’t tell me he found you.”

“No, Bianca, he didn’t find me. I was whacked in the head by a passing goat.”

She lightly slapped his good shoulder. “He’s that bad, huh?”

“I guess the Cyclops doesn’t mess around.”

“Then--then you need to strike back at the Cyclops. With everything you have.” She furrowed her brows, all seriousness. “Mr. D wants to talk to you about that. When you’re ready. He has a plan to sort out all his money troubles.”

Percy groaned softly. “I can’t wait to hear it.”

Bianca looked out over the rolling hills, watching the roads that twisted upon the island. “If Talos is that bad, Percy...maybe you should run.”

“What?”

“Leave Kephallonia. Buy yourself some time.”

Percy propped himself on one elbow. “You, who laughs in the face of bandits and taunts those who kidnap her, want me to run?”

She swiftly turned to face him, dark eyes glinting. “This is bigger than the Cyclops’s local cronies. Talos is a trained warrior.”

“So am I, Bianca. He caught me off guard.”

“If he catches you ‘off guard’ again, and Ikaros and I aren’t around to save you--what then, Percy? He’s being paid to kill you.”

“He--he won’t. I’ll be ready next time. I’ll kill him first.”

Bianca said nothing for a moment. “You’re a good fighter,” she said at last, “so I’m going to trust you.” She gave him a long look. “Promise me you’ll look over your shoulder and sleep with one eye open, every day and night, until the Stone-Fist is dead.”

“I promise.” He stared at the sky, a smooth pink expanse smudged with orange. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things I just want to update everyone on:
> 
> 1) "So you won't call Blackjack 'Blackjack' because 'France hasn't been invented yet' but you're letting Percy say 'touché'?" "Why are you measuring things in 'feet' and 'inches' when it would be more historically accurate to say 'stade'? Don't you care about historical--" Shut up. Shut uppppppp. Let me live. 
> 
> 2) I've officially decided that I'm better at writing dialogue than Ubisoft. 
> 
> 3) Sorry updates have not been as frequent--last week was really rough for me, but I've recovered and plan to have the next chapter up by this Friday. 
> 
> 4) Holler at me in the comments if you thought this had too many fight scenes. 
> 
> 5) I hate to say it, but I'm starting to see the value in Cartercy, as a ship...I still don't plan to change the romantic trajectory of this fic, but like. I get it now. 
> 
> 6) Write the word "kitkat" in the comments box if you're coming from Tumblr and regularly bear witness to the hellscape that is my blog. I'm curious. 
> 
> Sorry for the immersion-breaking note. Thank you for reading--I'll see ya Friday!


	6. An Eye for an Eye

It would have been the responsible thing to go directly to Mr. D--to speak with him, hear his plan to recover his wealth and debt-free status. 

Percy did not do the responsible thing.

With Bianca’s help, he staggered home and collapsed into bed. Bianca lingered in the dim house, fretting over him, constantly prodding at his bandages and fetching food and water. Finally, Percy told her that while she was being very kind, she needed to scram so he could sleep. With great hesitation, she obliged. 

Percy curled into a ball on his side with the good shoulder. As he watched sunlight catch on the dust as it streamed through windows and wooden doors, he wondered if sleep was what he really needed--he didn’t want to have any terrible dreams.

His mind was saying no, but his entire body was saying yes. Without even realizing, he fell asleep. 

\-----

_ He was in a dark, circular room--a cave. White sand coated the floor, soft on his bare feet. He tipped his head, turning around and around, but there was no exit he could see. The walls of smooth black stone were dry. There were no torches, yet a golden light was piercing the gloom, emanating from an object set on a pedestal in the middle of the room.  _

_ Percy peered into the glow. A pyramid, the size of his head, resting on a pedestal that came to his hip. It was made of some kind of bronze material, and though there was no fire near or within it, it radiated warm light.  _

_ Percy stepped closer. The hem of his long, black robes swished over the sand. As he raised his hands, reaching to touch the pyramid, he began to hear voices swirling around in the darkness--the black edges of the cave the light could not reach… just whispers, like smoke.  _

“You are my greatest pride.” 

“The shroud of Penelope… wife of Odysseus…” 

“Sleep? I never sleep. I just wait, in the shadows...and I will kill you all.” 

“The Wolf of Sparta.” 

_ Floating theater masks appeared in the edges of his vision--painted all white, save for red tear tracks trickling down from the eye-holes. They watched, looming silently in the darkness as Percy leaned towards the pyramid. _

_ His fingertips warmed as they neared the object’s surface _

_ And then, a new voice--hot with pain, loud, sharp, angry, and sudden, like the thrust of a bloody spear: _

“The traitor--is--DEAD!”

\-----

When he woke up, the sun was three-quarters of the way across the sky. He sat up on his bed, leaning against the cool walls of his room. 

After sitting there for a moment, mind empty, he rose. Searching through a chest across the room, he found a clean white tunic, the hardy burlap texture promising warmth and strength. Slowly, he walked around the side of his house and climbed up some stairs, picking his way to the second floor, where he found fresh linen bandages. He knew a perfect place to finally bathe before he spoke to Mr. D. 

The moment Percy stepped into the water, he felt a rush of coolness in his veins--a kind of strength that rippled across his body. He sighed with relief and flung himself into the lake. 

Here was a small cave just outside of Sami, holding a small lake, near twenty feet wide and fifty feet deep in the middle. The water was fresh and cool, hidden from the sun. Little green plants grew along the rocky banks and up the brown stone walls. Percy sat in the water, using the smooth lake sand to scrub away the dried blood and dirt, combing the tangles out of his wet hair with his fingers. He lingered, soaking in the water until the light pouring in from the entrance began to turn orange, the sun setting at last. 

The peal of a falcon echoed through the cave as Carter soared in. He landed, ruffling his wings, on a large stone beside Percy’s clean clothes and bandages. Percy gave a small wave in greeting, then plunged beneath the water once again. 

He didn’t come up for a full minute. Carter waited, watching him swim in the lake’s depths, and then come up, heading popping just a few feet before Carter with a grin. “Chaire.” 

Carter made a little “rrrruh” sound, the r’s rolled and croaky in his falcon throat. 

“I never properly thanked you for getting Bianca last night,” he said, keeping his voice quiet in the echoey cave. “So, thank you. You saved my life.” 

Carter gave a little cry. He turned his head, looking at Percy’s shoulder.

Percy followed his gaze. The deep cut in his shoulder was healing beautifully. He smiled. He’d always been a fast healer, and the water was making everything better. “I’ll be fine. No matter what Mr. D asks me to do--” he flexed his shoulder, “--I’ll be ready.” He looked back at Carter, scanning his falcon form up and down. “I guess you won’t be turning back for a while.” 

The falcon made a deep cooing noise. 

“That’s too bad. I was hoping to talk to you about something.” Percy bounced a little in the water, looking away. “I had the dream again.” 

Carter hopped off his rock, using his falcon legs and a single beat of his wings to approach the edge of the water. He stared at Percy, dark brown eyes wide. 

“With the cave, and the pyramid, and the masks.” He frowned. “I almost touched the pyramid this time. I got so close. But that voice--that scream. About the traitor dying...it stopped me again. It always does. That’s how the dream always ends.” He looked back at Carter, searching his eyes. “Do you remember what I’m talking about?”

Carter hopped once, making a “kraaak” sound that Percy hoped meant yes. “You said last summer you would do some research, see if you could find out what it all meant. I mean, you are the pyramid expert.” He reached out, tapping Carter’s talon with a single finger. “Find anything?” 

There was a weighty moment of silence. Then, Carter tipped his body forward, bringing his beak almost to the floor, then stood back up. A nod.  _ Yes _ . 

Percy straightened so quickly, a wave of water slapped the banks. Carter leapt back in surprise, making a _kak-kak-kak_ sound. “No  _ way _ . You actually--about the pyramid? What is it, where is it, what does it do? Do you know what the dream means?” 

Carter’s eyes narrowed--a frown, or a look of pity. He flapped his wings, flying across the cave, almost back to the entrance, and picked up a small stick in his claws. He flew back, and awkwardly wrote a word in Greek in the sand. 

_ Shroud.  _

Percy bit his lip. “That’s...great, but I already know the story of Penelope’s shroud. I was hoping...do you know why it keeps coming up in my dream? Or what I need to do with it, or...anything else?” 

Carter gave him a long look, then swept the sand clean with a single flap of his wing. Dipping his head, he wrote a new word.

_ Masks _ .

Now  _ this  _ was interesting. Percy leaned in. “What about the masks?” He could see them now, floating in the dark corners of his mind, marble-white with bleeding tears…

Carter tapped the stick to his beak, thinking. Then he wrote another word:  _ Group.  _

“Okay. Which group? What kind of group are they?” 

Carter stared at him, his wide irises giving him a very deer-in-the-headlights look. He looked at the ground, then back to Percy, then back to the ground. He started drawing hieroglyphs. 

“Oh. Hey, man, you know I can’t read that.”

Carter gave a defeated cry and snapped the stick in half in his talon. 

“Don’t worry, I’m--it’s no big deal. I’m sure you can tell me when you’re human again.” He ran a hand through his hair, eyes narrow as he scanned the sand. He had just hoped that if he solved the mystery of the dream, it would go away, and he wouldn’t have to hear that woman screaming about a traitor. “You’re sure you can’t write it in Greek?” 

Carter picked up one piece of the broken stick, giving cries of lament, dipping his head in a self-pitying expression. Percy couldn’t hold back a smile at how ridiculous it looked. “Come here, you silly bird.” 

Carter crept to the edge of the water, and Percy rubbed his small head and the back of his neck. Carter closed his eyes. 

“We’ll figure it out,” Percy murmured. 

He found Mr. D basking in the rays of the setting sun atop his roof. Surveying Kephallonia with a cool smirk, he sipped from a kylix of wine in his hand. As Percy approached, he could see Mr. D’s orange robes glimmering in the sunlight, wrapped around his wide waist. Resting across his shoulders was, to Percy’s disbelief, a leopard skin. 

“Polyas!” Without turning around, Mr. D raised his kylix to Percy. “At last. And not a moment too soon.” 

“Perseus,” Percy sighed, coming to stand beside Mr. D. He watched the sunset through narrowed eyes. “Bianca tells me you have a grand plan.” 

“To settle my score with the Cyclops, yes.” Mr. D took a great gulp of wine. “We’re going to make sure his last good day was yesterday.” 

Percy frowned at Mr. D’s smile. “‘We’?”

“Come now, boy. I’m the brains, you’re the brawn--it’s a joint effort.” 

Percy rolled his eyes. “Let’s hear this glorious plan.” 

Mr. D finally turned to face him, his smirk intact. “Think--what does the Cyclops value most? His men? His land? His ships?” Mr. D took another long sip of wine. “No! It’s his obsidian eye.” 

“Get to the point.” 

Mr. D scoffed, waving a hand as if clearing the air of Percy’s insolence. “Fine. We’re going to steal it.” 

A long moment of incredulous silence passed. “Are you  _ crazy _ ?” Percy stepped in closer, getting in Mr. D’s face. “First you borrow his drachmae, which everyone knows you won’t pay back--and now you want to steal his eye?” 

He held up a finger. “But having it, Proteus, means we  _ win _ .” 

“You’re drunk and you don’t know what you’re saying. How am I going to take the eye out of the Cyclops’s face? He’ll gut me!” 

“No, no, no. The eye is far too valuable for him to wear regularly, or in public.” He drummed his fingers on his kylix. “He keeps it safe, in some box in his house. You’ll sneak in and steal it. Easy.” 

Percy put his hands on his hips, watching the vineyard below. “This eye better be worth something.” 

“Of course it is, boy. Do you know how much obsidian goes for on Kephallonia?”

“I’ve never seen obsidian on Kephallonia.” 

“Exactly. Not to mention it’s veined with gold.” He took a thoughtful sip. “When I sell it, the profits will be enough to pay off the vineyard.” 

Watching the horizon, Percy asked, “Where is the Cyclops’s house?” 

“The Cursed Valley of Pali.” 

“Charming.” He grimaced. “I’ll get you the eye.”

“Of course you will. You’re the only one who can.” Mr. D drained his kylix, then slowly turned, making his way to a stairwell. “Remember,” he said, pointing at Percy, “not a soul can see you.” 

“Got it. Chaire.” 

The first stars were emerging as Percy rode Rota to the cursed valley. In no particular rush, he studied the darkening landscape around him--the bare green hills, the weathered dirt road, the occasional rabbit ducking through the grasses. As Rota trotted steadily onward, Percy’s mind raced.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Talos. The mercenary hadn’t reared his head since their scuffle on the beach--Percy couldn’t fathom where he’d gone.  _ He saw me run to the east _ , he thought, trying to retrace his steps. Surely the Stone-Fist would still be scouring Sami, looking for him in the office of a physician. Or was he smarter than that? Could he have tracked Percy, following his trail up Mount Ainos? Was he searching Percy’s house right now? 

What if Talos found Mr. D and Bianca? 

Percy shook his head, as if the cursed thoughts would fall out of his ears. He was psyching himself out for no reason. Talos was probably romping around the northern coast, bellowing about some injury Carter had struck him with. There was no use in dwelling on paranoid imaginings of the worst… 

He pulled on the reins, stopping Rota. To his left was a small hill; he knew that just over the crest was the Cursed Valley of Pali. He had no idea why it was called that. 

He jumped off his horse, trusting that Rota could find him again if need be, and walked up the hill. The hill’s smallness was misleading—instead of dipping down and flattening out again, the hidden slope plunged down for hundreds of feet, a ridge of green grasses and hardy olive bushes. Nestled against this ridge was a grand house, a sprawling white building of mud bricks with its own courtyard. Technically, it had an ocean view, but you couldn’t see the blue water unless you were really looking for it—the surrounding poplars and evergreens were that thick. 

A falcon screeched somewhere above him. He grinned, raising his leather-bound wrist, and waited. In seconds, Carter landed on the perch, clacking his beak, head twitching. 

"Good to see you," Percy muttered. He nodded to the house. "I need you to look around this place. See if there are any bodyguards, or hidden entrances..." 

Carter cocked his head. 

"I'm looking for a prosthetic eye, made out of obsidian. It'll be in a little box somewhere. And I can't be seen. You'll help me out, right?"

Carter released a little 'prrp' sound, taking to the sky with a mighty flap of his wings. Percy stood on the little hill's summit, not worried about being seen—for how often do henchmen look up?

The falcon swooped into the valley, gliding around the perimeter, then over the house. He landed on a roof tile, peering into the courtyard—then was airborne once more, plunging through a window of the house. Percy waited. Silent minutes passed, then he saw Carter flying out through the back door, gracefully soaring up the ridge. 

Instead of coming to Percy's wrist, he ducked into a nearby copse of trees, returning with a bundle of twigs. He dropped the bundle at Percy's feet. 

Percy knelt, pinching a few twigs between his fingers. He counted seventeen. "There's no way--that many guards?!" 

Carter hopped a little. Percy grimaced, staring down the house as though it were a vicious beast. "Did you find the eye?"

Carter tipped his whole body forward--his falcon nod. 

"Well, that's a start. How about a way in? Preferably one that keeps me from being gutted." 

Carter took to the skies, plunging back down into the valley. He settled to the ground just before the back door, his talons gripping the threshold. He waited. 

Percy bit his lip, then began the precarious descent. He was a strong climber, but the slope was both too flat to climb or rappel down and too steep to stroll down easily. Forced to clumsily step down the hill, grasping every small bush or clump of grass he could (and nearly uprooting them with the force of his grip), Percy tried to be quiet--to not gasp when his sandaled feet slipped out from under him on loose gravel, or shriek when he almost lost his footing on the pocked slope. It was too dark a night to tell if anyone could see him, exposed as he was, but he had no doubt there was a patrol of some kind around the edge of the estate or along the rooftops. He'd just have to hope the night camouflaged him as well as it camouflaged them. 

Finally, he neared the base of the hill. He plopped into a green bush with an 'oof!' and cringed, lying as still as possible in the leaves, hoping no one had heard. Thank the gods, it looked safe. 

Carter stood a few meters away, watching Percy from the shadows of the house. He made a little 'pip' noise, sounding almost concerned. Percy waved from inside the bush. "I think we're good," he whispered. Crouching, he crept out of the bush. 

The entrance to the house was a few paces away--he'd have to slip inside without alerting the guard posted near the corner of the building. Easy enough, as long as they didn't turn around. Hardly daring to exhale, Percy stepped inside the darkness of the house, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the lack of torchlight. 

The foyer awaiting him was meager--a mudroom fitting for a back entrance. Percy sat, leaning against the outer wall, half-hidden under a rickety wooden table and striped tablecloth. He noticed a few pots, bundles of rope, a stray quiver of arrows. He turned to his falcon friend, eyeing the open entrance that led to the courtyard. "What now?"

Carter hopped to the threshold of the courtyard entrance, looking back at Percy. Percy's eyes widened. "Uh-uh. No way. Yards are always crawling with guards." 

Carter jerked his head. Percy grimaced and tilted his head, staring at the square, open-air yard. It was not well kept--weeds speckled the dirt, and spears, arrows, swords, and maces aplenty littered the ground, not tidily kept in any of the racks that lined the walls. Percy noticed bodies lying on the ground, lit by the moon--all sleeping guards. 

_The Cyclops can't even give them proper barracks?_ At least now he knew where the majority of the Cyclops's men were--and as long as he was quiet, he could be in and out without waking them up. Biting his tongue to silence himself, he slid over the threshold and into the courtyard. 

He pressed his back to the wall, partially hidden behind a column. He looked at Carter, asking the question with his eyes. _Next?_

Carter hopped a mere two steps to the left, ducking into another doorway--this one guarded by an orange, red, and pink striped curtain. Not caring what awaited him on the other side, Percy slipped through. 

At first glance, the area looked like a treasure room. Tables and shelves lined nearly every wall, loaded with shiny gold plates, armor pieces, stray bowls of fruit, and purses of drachmae. Percy saw a chest crammed into the far corner. There was a lovely partition near the back wall, the sheer paper painted with green vines and purple grapes. Rugs lined the floor--Persian rugs, to Percy's surprise. He'd only heard of these rugs from stories, or seen them in pictures; Kephallonia, being one of the smaller and poorer islands, didn't receive traders from lands as distant as Persia. How much power did the Cyclops really have if he was able to get rugs from such a far-off and infamous enemy of Greece? 

He released a breath, scanning the room once more. How was he going to find a tiny obsidian eye in all of these piles? 

_ Think, Percy _ . The Cyclops wouldn't be so careless as to leave his greatest possession in some stray pile of expensive linen or drachmae. It would be kept separate. Perhaps in some little, ornate box...

There. At the end of the table. 

Percy clasped his hands around the small chest, the size of a jewelry box. It was painted with red lacquer, and the edges and corners were capped with gold. Despite its expensive appearance, it was light--made of wood. Something rolled around inside. 

He lifted the lid with a grin. There was the eye. 

He snatched it quickly and shut the box, putting it back where he found it. The eye fit nicely in his palm. The polished obsidian gleamed in the moonlight, the gold veins shining like liquid luxury. Percy desperately tried to ignore the fact that the beautiful rock spent most of its time in the skull of a warlord. He flipped open a pouch at his waist, tucking the eye away, and snuck out of the house, wonderfully, beautifully, thankfully and entirely unnoticed. 

\-----

When Mr. D saw Rota galloping upon his estate, he whooped with joy, sloshing his wine cup and immediately turning to find Bianca. The two raced to the front of the house, standing in the empty courtyard as Percy approached. Mr. D looked more smug than ever before, but Bianca was wringing her hands. 

“Podarces!” Mr. D cheered by way of hello. He thrust his arms into the air as he beamed, giving Bianca the perfect opportunity to smack his hip and hiss, “It’s  _ Perseus _ , for the last time!” 

With little ceremony, Percy reached into his pouch and grabbed the eye, tossing it to Mr. D. Unprepared, he fumbled the catch, bouncing the eye back and forth between his hands before finally grasping it with a twist of his torso. “Careful!”

“Do you know how many guards there were?!” Percy knew the guards hadn’t been a problem this mission, but sometimes he liked to twist Mr. D’s arm--see if the man ever felt sorry for constantly flinging his misthios into danger. “All of this. For a gods-damned rock.” 

Mr. D resumed his dignified posture. “This rock,” he said, pinching it carefully between his fingers, “could buy a house, boy.” 

Bianca remained silent. She was finally dressed in a _clean_ chiton--pale green, coming to her knees--and her black hair was tidy, held up and back with strips of leather. She was smiling at Carter, who was perched on a bench a stone’s throw away. 

Percy bit his lip. “But is it enough to pay back the Cyclops?” 

“Patience.” Mr. D replied. “This will work, I guarantee it. Would I lie to you?”

“Don’t make me answer that.” 

Bianca had migrated to the bench, sitting beside Carter and stroking his feathers. She talked to ‘Ikaros’ under her breath, keeping one eye on Percy and Mr. D. 

“Keep the eye,” Mr. D said, pressing the stone into Percy’s palm, “but don’t sell it. Not yet. No merchant would believe we came by it lawfully. They know who it belongs to.” 

“Fine.” Percy tucked the eye away once again. “I should get home.” 

Bianca stood, seemingly intent on walking with him. Percy smiled at her and turned on his heel to go. 

“Wait.” Mr. D held up a finger. “I saw something today I think you’d like to know about.” 

Percy frowned. “What?” 

“A boat. One that I’ve never seen before.” 

“So?” 

“It’s too good a vessel for Kephallonia. Too fancy.” He narrowed his eyes. “It must be the Cyclops, home early.” 

“Wouldn’t you recognize the Cyclops’s boat?” 

“He could’ve bought a new one. One big enough to hold dozens more men.” 

Percy held up his hands. “Slow down. The Cyclops is back, and he’s brought more thugs with him?” 

“Yes. I think.” He stroked his chin, staring into empty space. “And he must pay the new men well. These strangers look as rich as Kroisos.” 

“...Where can I find these strangers?” 

“An abandoned house on the eastern coast.” 

“I bet their hideout is full of gold,” Bianca said casually. When Percy gave her an incredulous look, she shrugged slyly. “Just something to think about.” 

He chuckled. “Okay...but. I don’t think it’s smart to pick a fight with these guys.” 

Mr. D’s eyes widened, the picture of shock. “What are you talking about?! The Cyclops has already picked a fight with us! We need to strike back.” 

“I don’t know.” Percy rubbed the back of his neck. “We already took his eye--”

“Why not take more?”

“--we should quit while we’re ahead. There’s no need to be cruel.” 

“Percy, he’s a warlord.” Bianca’s voice was like a dull knife--blunt and deadpan, but still able to cut. “He’s a thief, a tyrant, and a sadist. We can be a little cruel.” She smirked. “An eye for an eye.” 

Percy was so used to Bianca’s sweetness--her laughter, her adoration of Ikaros, her light step and gentle presence--that moments like these caught him off guard. It was easy to forget that Bianca was an orphan who had struggled, scavenged, and lived off of scraps for years before they’d met. She had a mean streak. It didn’t help that the Cyclops routinely kidnapped her, hoping to use her to hurt Percy; undoubtedly, she’d want revenge. 

He rested a hand on the pommel of his sheathed xiphos. “I’ll check it out. No promises, though.” 

Mr. D nodded. It was the best he could he could’ve hoped for. 

Bianca walked with Percy under the star-studded sky, keeping him company on the path to his house. She tossed little stones down the road, seemingly content in the comfortable silence between them. 

Out of nowhere, she spoke. “What if these strangers don’t work for the Cyclops?”

_ What made her think of that?  _ “...What’s on your mind, Bianca?” 

She shrugged, studying the jagged rock in her hand. “All Mr. D saw was a fancy boat and some rich warriors. Doesn’t mean they’re working for the Cyclops.”

“Why would they come to Kephallonia if they weren’t? This isn’t exactly a grand travel destination.” 

Bianca snorted. “Maybe this is just a pit stop?” 

“Some pit stop if they’re shacking up on the eastern coast.” Percy frowned. “I’ll snoop around and figure it out when the sun rises. Don’t worry.” 

“I’m not worried. Just curious.” They resumed their silent stroll over the dust and pine needles. Then: “Where do you think they’re from?” 

“No idea. I’d have to see them to make a guess. Does it matter?” 

“I think it does. A lot.” Her brow was deeply lined with thought. “I know there’s a wider world beyond these shores.” 

“I know you know. But Bianca--”

“I’m not Kephallonian.” 

There was no breeze, birdsong, or nocturnal critter to break the following silence. The quiet of disbelief is impenetrable. Percy would’ve immediately written her statement off as nonsense--the rambling of a child up past their bedtime--but there was unmistakable sorrow in her voice, the kind that could only come from honesty. 

Percy struggled for words. “I thought--” 

“I’ve been here my entire life, of course. But as long as I live, I’ll know this isn’t my homeland.” She turned a rock over and over in her palm. “And when I see travellers come here, it reminds me of...of everything. That I’m a traveller. That I will leave someday. I don’t want to forget--I don’t want to be from here.” 

Percy took a deep breath. “Neither do I.” 

Bianca’s head snapped up. “Oh, wait--gods--I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--” 

Percy chuckled, then grew still, a pensive smile settling across his lips. “I’m not from here either.” 

Now it was her turn to be shocked. “Where  are _you_ from?” 

He turned to the trees, and tried to imagine them as the trees of his youth. The pines of Kephallonia were sparse, with weak needles that tumbled to the earth in the smallest summer breezes--nothing like Lakonian pines. They grew tall and strong in their forests, with shining emerald needles so tightly packed, it felt like fur when you ran your hand through it. They built all of the grandest buildings out of those trees--the gymnasium, the throne room, the temple at the top of the hill. 

“Sparta.” A beat. “You?” 

She laughed. “That explains it. Why you’re such a great warrior--I knew Mr. D couldn't have taught you how to wield a sword.” She threw another stone down the road. “Messenia. I’m from Messenia. We--I lived near a fort at the base of Mount Ithome.” 

“A fort? Not a very safe place for children.” 

“No, I suppose not. But it was important to my father that we stayed there, for some reason.”

Percy didn’t know what to say. He needed to tread carefully--Bianca had never mentioned her father specifically before. “Was he a soldier?” 

“No. I don’t know. I’ve never met him.” 

“...I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. It doesn’t matter to me.” She reached down and picked up another stone; when she came back up, she was grinning, almost proud. “No one else on Kephallonia knows I’m Messenian.” 

Percy snickered. “No one else on Kephallonia knows I’m Spartan.” A pause. “Wait. Mr. D knows.” 

She laughed again, then turned her head, her eyebrows raising at the upcoming bend in the road. Percy’s hovel was just around the corner. She started to jog a little, then run, racing to the house with a smile and disappearing behind a wall of trees. Percy started to jog along, trying to keep up even after losing sight of her.

The first thing he saw when he rounded the bend was Bianca, standing completely still. Her back was to Percy, he couldn’t see her face, but her shoulders were trembling, her fingers splayed as if trying to think of something to do. 

He looked past her and saw his house. 

What was left of it, anyway.

It was easier to focus on the ground than it was the smoldering rafters or crumbled walls, so that’s what he did. Strewn about among the weeds, toppled baskets, smashed pots, and the snapped remains of every arrow Percy owned laid like corpses. The center of the little plot was blackened, with speckles of orange resting in little crevices--still-burning fires. Everything inside--every wooden table, every rug, rope, tunic, staff, bundle of spices, stray weapon--was ash. The dried mud walls that wouldn’t burn were smashed, a sloppy, collapsed heap of smoking rock. 

He took a step into the rubble. His foot crunched on the coals. He saw a bright blue strip of cloth, lifelessly fluttering in the black dirt. Without thinking, he fell to his knees, reaching, pressing his fingers into the dirt, staining his hands with soot, and clutched the charred fabric, drawing it close to his chest. 

It had been part of a tapestry. One of many housewarming gifts from Carter. Percy didn’t have to look around--didn’t have to tear his eyes from the smoke that curled into the sky--to know this strip was all that was left of it. 

“Percy?” Bianca’s trembling voice seemed so far away. “What...happened?” 

“I…” His throat was dry. Everything smelled like smoke. He staggered to his feet, still holding the ribbon of cloth like a lifeline. That’s when he saw it. 

It was sitting on top of a large piece of Percy’s wall. Undisturbed and undamaged, a stone slab the size of a plate waited, impossible to miss. Percy walked over to it, each step feeling like a mile. He lifted the slab to the moonlight. 

The stone felt smooth, almost silky--dried clay.There were no words etched into the tablet, merely a deep imprint of a hand. A smear of dry tar colored where the knuckles would’ve been, the excess drying in droplets dripping down the palm of the hand. He knew this mark, and who it belonged to. All mercenaries of his caliber did. 

Talos the Stone-Fist. 

  
  



	7. Fancy Guests

Mr. D was annoyed to see his misthios back at his estate so soon. He was even more annoyed when he found out why.

“What a complete waste of money!” he spluttered over the dinner table. Despite the darkness of the night and the total lack of food, they had settled in the dining room to discuss what the hell just happened.

The tar-splattered mark of Talos rested on the low table just in front of Percy. He glared at the stone as it basked in the warm glow of torchlight. Him, Mr. D and Bianca sat on the floor around the low table, surrounded by rugs and a few cushions. A square hole in the outer wall served as a window, looking out upon pale green trees and the dark grasses of the vineyard. The moon was so bright, everything outside cast a shadow.

“That’s hardly important right now,” Percy snapped. “And it was my money that was wasted.”

“Money that I gave you!” Mr. D pouted, eyes drifting to the kitchen entrance as if looking for more wine. “I’m the one who pays your salary, boy!”

“I don’t have a salary! I’m a misthios! There’s no fixed pay!”

“Enough!” Bianca pressed a hand on the tabletop, black eyes simmering. “Percy, I think you need to seriously consider what we talked about.”

Percy took a deep breath. “What do you mean?”

“On Mount Ainos.” Her eyes darted to Mr. D, and, as if having made a decision, continued. “You should leave Kephallonia.”

“Bianca, I already--”

“It’s not like you don’t have anywhere to go! You could return to Sparta!”

Percy pressed his fingertips into his temples. “I wouldn’t leave you and Mr. D alone on the same island as the Cyclops or the Stone-Fist.”

“Don’t let me be a concern,” Mr. D interjected, examining his fingernails. “Trust me when I say I take care of myself.”

“I have taken care of you every day since I washed up here!” Percy could barely keep his voice down. “What would you do without me?! What’s your plan--let’s hear it!”

Mr. D’s eyes focused on Percy, glowing with a barely restrained fury--in the low light, he could’ve sworn they were turning purple. “I, unlike you, have resources you don’t know about. I, unlike you, have connections that you could barely imagine. And I--unlike you--” he jabbed a finger at Percy, “--have a _family_.”

If Carter hadn’t swooped in through the window and landed on the table right in front of Percy, the misthios would’ve seized that pointing finger and broken it. As it was, he and Bianca had leapt to their feet, Carter’s sudden appearance and outstretched wings being the only things keeping Percy from lunging across the table.

“How dare you,” Bianca hissed. Her whole body was trembling with fury. Her chest was seizing. Percy thought she might pass out, her rage was so complete.

Mr. D’s jaw hardened. He remained seated, his posture relaxed, indifferent to their anger. Only his face betrayed his worry. “I’m being realistic. Out of the three of us, I’m the last person to worry about.”

“That doesn’t give you any right--” Bianca was spluttering.

“Bianca,” Percy whispered, “catch your breath.”

He turned back to Mr. D as she sank into a cushion, glowering at both of them. He focused on the older man, meeting his fiery gaze. Percy hated that Mr. D was right.

“So what?” he spat. “You have glorious resources and a family we’ve never met. You’ll be fine.” His tongue could taste the bitterness in his voice. “What does that mean for us? What are we supposed to do?”

Mr. D’s face relaxed, his eyes and mouth softening, becoming heavier with sorrow as he studied the empty air. After a long moment of contemplation, he spoke. “I can ask my uncles to watch over you.”

“...Are you kidding?”

“I’m not,” he snapped. “My uncles are...quite powerful in this country. Maybe they could send help.”

Percy couldn’t believe Mr. D would so blatantly grasp at straws like this. Bianca spoke up first. “If you have such a grand and powerful family,” she snarled, “why would you be such a piss-poor debtor?”

A small part of Percy’s mind wanted to tell her off for her foul language. “Bianca--”

“I think he’s lying!” She crossed her arms, glaring at Mr. D. “Why would he have to borrow money from the Cyclops--of all people--if his family was so, so influential? Why would you start a vineyard on Kephallonia--of all places--if you weren’t desperate for drachmae?”

She stood. Tears gathered in her eyes. “I think you’re making it all up.” She forced the words through trembling lips. “You want to--to pretend like you can save us with your make-believe uncles because you’re too proud to admit that you’re _stuck_ here. That you’re just like _us_.” She abruptly turned on her heel and stalked out--as if not wanting to cry in front of them.

Percy turned back to Mr. D. Silence settled over the table. “She has a point.”

Mr. D stared at him for a long time, as though he were a poor farmer and Percy a barren field. He seemed to come to a decision. “Follow me.”

The two men walked together up three flights of stairs, reaching the roof of the house. As they stood on the unsheltered terrace, Percy found he couldn’t look Mr. D in the eye.

Mr. D sat on the lip of the roof with a sigh, looking out over the foothills. Percy followed his gaze, seeing the smoke cloud rising from the ruins of his house. He couldn’t believe it was still burning.

Mr. D gestured to a wooden chest across from them with a flourish. “Open that for me.”

Percy didn’t have the heart to raise an eyebrow or ask a petty question. Silently, he knelt before the box and opened it. He stared at the contents, confused. “It’s just my sword.”

When he’d arrived at Mr. D’s house a mere hour ago, an overeager servant had asked if he could take Percy’s sword, as casually as one would take someone’s coat. It was typical of servants on large estates to make sure guests were comfortable and unarmed; normally Percy would say no, but tonight was different. Still reeling from shock at the loss of his home, Percy handed it to the servant without a word. He hadn’t even wondered where it had gone. Apparently, the servant thought to store it up here until Percy had need of it.

Mr. D nodded. “Take it out for me.”

“What’s the--”

“I want to bask in its presence, boy. Show me the xiphos.”

Percy pulled the sword out of the chest, letting it rest at his side. The bronze blade seemed to glow in the moonlight. The engraving _Anaklusmos_ was thrown into sharp relief.

Mr. D eyed the blade. “Do you remember how you got that sword?” His voice was uncharacteristically gentle.

_Where’s he going with this?_ “You gave it to me. When I started working for you as a misthios.”

Mr. D nodded. “I didn’t buy this sword. Before I gave it to you, it was given to me.” He waited for some kind of response.

Percy obliged. “Who gave it to you?”

“Your father.”

And just like that, Percy couldn’t breathe.

He blinked once. Twice. His hand came up, palm pressing against his stomach of its own volition. The xiphos almost slipped from his grasp; his perspective shrank, like he could see nothing, feel nothing but the luster and weight of the sword. It gave him vertigo. “You knew Paul?”

Mr. D said nothing.

Percy sat on top of the closed chest. He brought the blade to rest in his lap. He stared at the reflection of his eyes in the metal.

Mr. D decided that they had steeped in the silence long enough. “On the day you were born,” he murmured, “your father gave me this sword. He told me Sally had a son. That the boy--you--would grow up Spartan. A warrior. He told me that if…” He furrowed his brows, choosing his words. “...if I were to ever see you in trouble, I needed to help. In any way I could. And that I needed to give you this sword, to defend yourself.”

Percy swallowed. His mind was swimming with questions. “I can’t believe you knew him. My father.”

“I told you I have connections.”

“But--how? He’s a Spartan general, how would you two ever…?”

Mr. D narrowed his eyes. “I’ve known him since I was a child.”

“Did you know I was his son when I washed up on the beach?” What an incredible coincidence that a friend of his father would be in the right place at the right time…

Mr. D took a deep breath and said nothing.

“Answer me.”

“Of course I did. You have his eyes.”

Percy gritted his teeth and clenched the hilt of his sword. He chuckled to stave off the tears filling his eyes. “Bianca was right. You--you are a liar.”

Mr. D’s head snapped to face him, gaping a little. Before he could respond, Percy stood. “My father’s eyes were blue. We never--we don’t look anything alike.”

He swiped at his eyes. Yet again, he’d fallen for Mr. D’s nonsense. But this time hurt more than ever before. “It’s a touching story,” he continued, voice wavering, “but you made it all up.”

“Perseus--”

Percy waved him away. “I’m going to find Bianca. We’re going to make a plan and--and figure out how to save ourselves. Keep dreaming about those uncles.” He started down the stairs, leaving Mr. D alone on the roof, straight-backed and silent.

Years passed before Percy realized Mr. D had called him by his real name.

Bianca was hiding among the rows of grape vines. Percy approached her slowly, surprised by her apparent calm. Hugging her knees to her chest, she seemed impossibly small among the plants; if it hadn’t been for the brightness of tonight’s moon, Percy probably wouldn’t have found her at all.

Percy stepped in front of her, standing there for a moment before taking a seat. The green leaves swallowed him. He felt like a little kid again, hiding from his mother in a meadow. Bianca sat where Estelle would’ve sat, giggling at the tickling grasses as Percy tried to shush her.

Bianca wasn’t Estelle. She didn’t giggle, or cling to a mother’s skirt, or suck her knuckle. Her eyes were closed, and she was completely still. It made Percy wonder about her disappeared brother. Did he ever hide with her in tall grasses, waiting for a mother to find them? Who was the giggler, and who was the shusher? Percy tried to imagine a younger Bianca doing such a thing--but all he could picture was his sister’s face.

“I can’t believe he would lie to us like that,” Bianca muttered. Her eyes remained closed.

Anaklusmos grew colder against Percy’s back. “I know.”

“He’s so petty. So proud. Like he sucked on nectar as a baby. Like he isn’t _from_ here.” Her lips pressed together. “But he _is_ from here. We should be the ones strutting around like peacocks all--all _preened_ and worldly with _connections_ \--”

“I think he’s just afraid.” Percy dragged a finger over the soft dirt, drawing little lines. “He wants to think he can protect us.”

She scoffed, burying her head in the tops of her knees. “Why would he care?”

“Well, since he was lying about all his uncles…that would make us the only family he has.”

Bianca lifted her head, resting her chin on her knees. Her eyes were red along the edges. She sniffed a little bit, sucking in a deep breath.

As hard as it was, Percy met her forlorn gaze. “When the sun rises, I’ll go find the rich strangers on the eastern coast. I’ll take their money. And we’ll leave tomorrow. All three of us. We’ll get on a boat and go. We can leave this all behind.” _We don’t have to be from here anymore._

She stared at him, a thin smile growing on her face. “Go where?”

“Anywhere.” He tilted his head. “I could take you home. Back to Ithome.”

She shook her head. “It wouldn’t be the same without Nico.” She froze.

“...Who’s--”

“Why don’t we all go to Sparta?”

Okay. If she didn’t want to explain, she didn’t have to. Percy studied the lines he’d drawn in the dirt. “I can’t go back there,” he said softly.

“Why not?”

He drew a slash through his lines. “I just can’t. I don’t belong there anymore.”

Bianca watched his brown-stained fingertips skitter through the sand. She didn’t ask him anything more. He loved her for that. True friendship isn’t knowing everything about one’s past, but just wanting to be a part of their future. “So. Not Sparta, and not Ithome. That just leaves us with…” Her smile grew. “Everywhere else.”

“Everywhere else.”

“In the whole wide world.”

“I’ve always wanted to see Euboea. They say the leaves of the trees there are always golden.”

“We could go to the island of Keos. Become pirates.”

“And make a pit stop in Athens on the way.”

They were lying in the dirt now, the silty soil pressing into their skin, clothes, and hair. He could feel Bianca shoulder pressing against his as they stargazed side by side. He couldn’t see her face, but he felt her smile. “Why stop at Greece? We could go to Persia, I bet.”

“Or Egypt.”

“China.”

“India.”

“Babylonia.”

“We could go north. See what we find.”

She snickered. “There’s nothing up north.”

“How do you know?”

“...I guess I don’t.”

“We’ll have to find out.”

Eventually, after they had offered all their dreams to each other, they found their eyelids growing heavier, their breaths deeper. The warm night air soothed them, the vines sheltered them, and the constellations rocked them to sleep.

\-----

The sun was hot on Percy’s scalp as he rode Rota to the eastern coast. He’d been to the abandoned house before; he’d discovered it nestled in the forest when he was thirteen. He wanted to make it his own hideout, a playhouse. But it was too far from Mr. D’s to be useful. He’d forgotten about it--like everyone else.

He coughed a little as Rota stirred up dust from the road. Where was he supposed to turn again? He couldn’t wait to duck into the green shadows of the trees, if only for a bit of shade.

“Slow down here,” he murmured. Rota’s ear twitched and he did exactly what Percy asked. Percy almost never used the reins with this horse. He couldn’t believe how easy it was--how well this horse understood him, and no one else.

The pair headed left, entering the mass of trees just off the road, a slow walk through the yellow beams of sunlight. Rota stepped carefully over the scraggly bushes and tall grasses. “Watch out for that rock,” Percy muttered, and Rota shifted, slowly going around.

The treetops rustled with tweeting birds, but everything else was still. Not even a breeze swept through the forest. Percy relaxed his back, shifting his weight in the saddle, settling into the content monotony that was Rota picking his way through the trees. He hummed a little, thinking about the strangers he was about to meet.

It wasn’t going to be a pleasant encounter. If these really were the Cyclops’s men, they’d attack him on sight. If they weren’t, well, he would be the attacker.

But it would all be worth it. He’d have gold aplenty, enough to take his little group of friends anywhere they wanted. That was more important than morality right now. If he was really lucky, this may be the last group of people he’d have to fight for money. He could leave the life of a misthios behind--leave it to swelter and rot on Kephallonia.

Peering through the trees, he could see the ruins of a wall far in front of him. The crumbling white bricks came up to Rota’s shoulder. He quietly slipped from Rota’s back. “Stay here,” he whispered.

He whistled for Carter; the falcon hovered above the house, already knowing what to do. Even after all these years, Percy could still picture the layout of this place. On the corner of the plot was the most intact portion of the house--a patio around a two story tower, capped with a rooftop balcony. The stony courtyard held neat piles of burlap bags, clusters of clay pots, stacks of lumber, and a few hardy weeds. The whole place was surrounded by that uneven, decaying wall.

As Percy considered his approach, Carter swooped to his side, plopping five stones in his open palm. Percy frowned, closing his fist around the rocks and grinding them together in his hand. This could either go really well or really, really badly. Would it be better to sneak around the left side, or the right? His gaze crept skyward, landing on that rooftop balcony.

Perfect.

Three of the strangers were sitting on the ground, murmuring with one another as they threw dice. Another napped in the shade of the tower. The last one was leaning against a shorter section of the wall, looking out at the forest and ocean beyond. None of them were looking up.

After climbing up the stone tower, Percy’s hands and sandals were coated in white powder, the skin of his palms burning. As he crouched on the rooftop balcony, he turned his xiphos once, twice in his hand, took a shallow breath, and leapt over the side.

The strangers yelled in surprise as he tumbled before them, jumping to their feet and drawing their weapons in one motion. The four awake men dove upon him in a coordinated attack as the fifth rose, hands scrabbling for a weapon. Percy parried two blows, the force of the sword strikes knocking the warriors back. He heard the snap of a bowstring and twisted to the left with a grunt, barely dodging an arrow from behind him. The napping man was now very much awake and very much armed.

Another warrior swung his sword at Percy’s head. He ducked into a crouch with a gasp, readying his sword and shifting his weight into his toes; he pounced forward, and in milliseconds, his blade was plunged in his attacker’s gut. He drew it out just in time to knock aside another incoming arrow, parrying another sword strike before the dead man hit the ground.

He was panting now, sweat dripping into the creases of his eyes. His palms burned from holding the grip of his xiphos so tightly. As he disarmed another opponent, knocking their sword out of their hand with one forceful blow, he heard the archer behind him ready another arrow. He prepared to dodge--but Carter was already there, scratching at the archer’s forearms and eyes with his talons. The warrior screamed, dropping his bow to slap at the bird. Percy grinned at his friend, then quickly slashed Anaklusmos across the throat of his disarmed opponent.

Two down. Three to go.

In a single bound, he brought himself face-to-face with the archer; realizing his bow was useless, the man whipped out a dagger, expertly blocking Percy’s attacks with the smaller weapon. Percy heard the two fighters behind him readying their weapons--he needed to end this archer, now. He smacked the flat of his blade across his enemy’s jaw; the man was stunned, unable to block the next furious slashes into his collarbone.

The archer collapsed as Percy whirled around, parrying a blow from another warrior and driving him into a corner. With a single swing of his arm, he slashed a deep cut into their stomach--then yelped at a sudden sting in the back of his neck.

He turned around, merely two short paces from a snarling warrior, their spear tipped with droplets of Percy’s blood. As the stranger in the corner crumpled, dead, Percy realized this spearman was the last of Kephallonia’s guests.

Ignoring the blood trickling down his neck, Percy swung. His xiphos thwacked against the wooden shaft of the spear as his opponent parried, then counterattacked with a thrust to Percy’s gut. He dodged, near-twirling out of the way.

Without thinking, Percy grabbed the outstretched spear, yanking the shaft forward and dragging the spearman with it. As the warrior surged forward with a grunt, Percy tried to drive Anakulsmos into his heart--but missed, piercing just above the sternum and just below the clavicle. Blood gushed, spurting violently from the wound and splattering all over Percy’s face.

The misthios spat as he leapt away, the enemy’s blood staining his tongue and teeth. The spearman roared with rage and pain, clutching a hand to his chest as he wildly--sloppily--slashed down. Percy ducked out of the way again, hurriedly swiping the blood out of his eyes.

The spearman was paling, losing blood so rapidly Percy began to think he’d struck an artery. The yellow dirt of the courtyard, now soft and red with blood, squished into Percy’s sandals as he dodged the spearman’s clumsy attacks.

The sun was hot on the bloodied fighters, and Percy winced as the salt of his sweat inflamed the cut on his neck. The spearman wheezed through his clenched teeth. It was going to be over soon.

Percy dove forward and landed a forceful punch on his opponent’s chest. Had the warrior been at full strength, the punch would’ve been pathetic, laughable--but the spearman gasped as he folded to his knees, tipped onto his stomach.

Percy felt a familiar ache in his heart, and he swallowed, hard. He had given this spearman a long, painful death, fated to bleed out on the ground far away from his home. He took a step forward, intending to swing his sword, grant his enemy a quick death--until someone stepped out of the tower.

Expecting another warrior, Percy readied his blade--but this old woman was no fighter. Thick blue robes wrapped around her torso and one of her shoulders, the hem swirling around her ankles; the vibrant fabric, gilded with golden embroidery, dwarfed her, emphasizing her thin, aged frame. Her diminutive stature was not helped by her curved back, the posture of a crone. She kept her iron-gray hair pinned back in a bun, her knobbed wrists and hands weighted with golden bracelets and rings. As she took a few weak steps forward, she surveyed the gory scene, the soles of her tiny feet becoming coated in blood. Her expression was unreadable, and Percy wanted to apologize, to escort this grandmother away--but her eyes, like two sharp stones pressed into a face of clay, glinted with a fearsome light. Percy was rooted to the ground.

The old woman stepped next to the dying spearman’s body, hands clasped in front of her. The pair listened to his final gurgling breaths as Percy was gripped with horror--at the man, at the woman, at the stench of death. All he wanted was to run.

Without hesitation or remorse, the old woman bent down, pulling a dagger from the folds of her skirt and slitting the spearman’s throat. Her eyes betrayed no emotion as she watched his final shudder.

“I’m no specialist in mercy,” she said, “but a good warrior deserves a quick death.” Her croaky voice commanded attention.

“On that we can agree,” Percy said cautiously, stepping to face the woman. He subtly readied Anaklusmos, adjusting his grip on the blade.

The crone’s imperious eyes fell to his xiphos, and she grinned. Her teeth seemed too clean, too sharp. “There will be no need for that, honey. In fact…” She crooked her head, studying the five dead bodies, Percy’s leather armor, and the blood coating his entire face. “...I think you’re just the misthios I’m looking for.”

Percy furrowed his brow. “No pity for the men who worked with you?”

“Not with me, for me. They were merely employees.” She stretched her lips in a toothless smile. “Now ex-employees, I suppose.”

“So, you don’t work for the Cyclops.”

She arched a brow. “I don’t meet many warriors who believe in myths.”

“Not the monster, the man.” Despite her previous assurances, Percy lifted his sword, pointing the tip at her chest. “You’re an outsider.”

She cackled. “Indeed. I am not from Kephallonia. But what I seek is.” She walked forward, ignoring his poised blade, her eyes focused on the beach beyond the trees. “If you would follow me, Perseus.”

A risky, impulsive, and altogether bad idea--but Percy’s curiosity was piqued. He slowly sheathed his sword and followed the woman to the shores of Kephallonia.

“Who are you? And how do you know my name?”

Despite her old appearance and previously slow pace, the woman could run. She practically sprinted down the beach, pumping her arms, grinning like a madwoman. Percy ran a few paces behind, kicking up warm sand.

“You may call me Dodds,” she said, “and my work has taken me all over this country. How do I know your name?” Percy could barely hear her chuckle over the lapping of the blue waves. “I did what you did, honey. I asked, and people told me.”

Percy grimaced as he ran, trying to keep his breaths even. “Tell me who sent you.”

“An inquisitive nature. Good.” Her pace slowed to a walk as the pair entered a small cove. A campfire and sleeping roll rested on the beach--this must have been where Dodds made camp. Apparently she didn’t want to spend her nights with the warriors, knowing a worthy misthios would show up and kill them for their supposed gold. The golden sands of the cove were bordered by yellow grasses and large gray boulders--ensuring privacy.

Dodds stared across the ocean, her gaze fixed on the island across the small strait. Merely a few hundred meters away, a rocky piece of land, even smaller than Kephallonia, lay nestled in the waves. Percy had never ventured there before, knowing next to nothing about it--only that it was deserted. The scraggly landscape seemed fascinating to Dodds as she peered at it, and Percy wished he knew what she was thinking.

“You have proved yourself capable,” she said after a long moment of silence. “I have a job for you. My prized possession was stolen and I need you to steal it back.”

Percy straightened. “If you wanted to hire me, you could’ve just asked. Those men didn’t need to die.”

“Those men knew what they signed up for. And besides, this retrieval will not be easy.” Her bracelets clinked together as she clasped her hands. “I needed to know whether or not you have what it takes.”

Percy looked away from her, watching the other island as though it would sail away at any moment. “What do you need me to steal?”

“The shroud of Penelope. Wife of Odysseus.”

Percy felt his breath leave his body as he remembered the dream. _The cave--the pyramid--the masks--the whispers--shroud of Penelope, wife of Odysseus--_

“You’re joking.”

She smiled. It seemed cruel. “I’m not. A piece of it still remains, after all these centuries.”

“Impossible,” Percy spat. “If it existed, it would be priceless.”

“Which is why I want it back.”

He ran a hand through his dark hair, feeling the blood in it drying in clumps. “Where do I start looking?”

Dodds pointed a gnarled finger at the island across the strait. “There. The island of Ithaka.”

Percy felt like the biggest moron in all of the Mediterranean. _I’ve been living next to Odysseus’s home all these years...and I didn’t even know?!_ “Okay...where on Ithaka?”

“I’d start at Odysseus’s palace. What’s left of it, anyway.” One side of her mouth curled, a sideways grin. “An inspiring tale. A reunion of past lovers.”

“I’ve heard the story.” He stared at the rocky shore, setting his jaw. “I’ll do it.”

Dodds smiled. She knew he would. “Don’t expect it to be easy, misthios.”

“That’s why it will cost you.”

“Then it’s agreed.” She jerked her head down the coastline. “There’s a rowboat in the harbor. Use it. When you have the shroud, meet me at the temple of Zeus.”

Percy nodded. She turned around and started walking away, leaving him in the cove, but before she disappeared around the boulders and into the treeline, she spoke.

“Oh, and honey...don’t fail.”


	8. Penelope’s Shroud

The ocean was and remains one of the worst places to take a bath, but Percy had few options. Even if fresh water was nearby, his mind was racing too quickly to bear walking away. After Dodds disappeared, he sank into the surf and scrubbed the drying blood off of his skin and face. As he waded up to his waist, he even took off his armor and scrubbed at the dirt, sweat, and blood gathering in the worn leather crevices. 

He tried to focus on what he knew. Dodds was a rich stranger. She wanted Penelope’s shroud--at least a piece of it. But these facts left him with more questions than answers. 

_Why would she go through the effort of hiring those men just to let them die?_

_What does she want on Kephallonia? There has to be more than the shroud._

_Was it_ her _voice in my dream--the one talking about the shroud?_

_Should I be afraid?_

As foolish as it might have been, Percy wasn’t afraid of Dodds, not really. It was obvious she was rich, and that meant she could help him. If he got her shroud back, she could give him enough money to leave Kephallonia--just like he promised Bianca. Even if his reward wasn’t enough drachmae to charter a boat, it would be enough to get started, and he could just work as a member of a ship crew until they got where they needed to go. Dodds was the key to escaping the Cyclops--and Talos the Stone-Fist.

Just thinking of the mercenary and his moniker was enough to make Percy straighten, make his head snap up to scan the treeline for movement. Talos had burned his house only yesterday, which meant he had to be following Percy very closely--watching him, timing his actions, waiting until he was alone…

Percy waded back to shore and quickly put on his still-wet armor. As he rubbed the back of his neck, surprised to feel the cut already healing (must’ve been some good seawater…), he saw Carter perched on a branch of a bare tree, patiently waiting. 

Percy grinned. Falcon-Carter had fantastic vision--he would warn Percy if the Stone-Fist was coming. Nothing to worry about. No need to look over his shoulder every five seconds. 

Still. Stealing away to Ithaka for the day made him feel a little safer. 

He walked in the surf, searching for the promised rowboat, thinking about his route. The ruins of the palace would be on the south side of the island. Squinting across the strait, he could see a small beach to land on. He tried not to think too much beyond that. Best not to jump to conclusions about what kind of danger he was running towards. 

He glanced over his shoulder, watching Carter prepare to take flight. “Think you’ll be able to turn human again?” 

The falcon cried as he began to flap his wings. 

“It could be really fun. Remember the second time we set out on a tiny boat together?” 

The first time Carter and Percy had rafted together was when they were desperately fleeing Sparta, and it wasn’t something they liked to talk about. The second time was a lot more fun--the property damage was just the cherry on top. Carter said his uncle Amos still reprimanded him about that jaunt. 

“The royal family of Egypt should have so much else to complain about,” Carter would grumble. Percy could only laugh and tell him to be flattered that their heroic exploits were still sung of. 

Alas, Carter didn’t change back into a human. His magical weakening must have been more serious than Percy thought. He tried not to worry about it too much as he trekked down the beach, finding a tiny brown boat with a small sail nestled in the sand.

Usually, Percy was good with boats. 

He had an inexplicable intuition when it came to sailing; he knew which rope did what, how to tie countless knots, and the difference between port and starboard. More than that, the sea provided him an unparalleled sense of direction--on the water, he always knew where he was, how fast he was going, and which direction he was going. More than knowledge, it was instinct. 

But ever since he and Carter had fled Sparta in that tempest, he was hesitant to take to the open water. Local rivers and lakes were fine for having fun and raising hell, but the ocean was a beast. Fathomless depths, carnivorous sea creatures, and twenty-foot tall waves...it was only a matter of time before Percy’s instinct and luck failed him. 

No matter the strength and comfort the water gave him, he wouldn’t be foolish enough to drop his guard. 

He pushed the little boat into the water, hopping on the small deck and grasping the single oar at the stern.

It was a tiny little strait. A five-minute journey. He was a great swimmer. Nothing to be afraid of. _Nothing to be afraid of._

He gave the oar a mighty push, flinging himself into open water. “Let’s try not to piss off Poseidon, shall we?” he said through gritted teeth. Keeping two steady hands on the oar, he bobbed gently over the cresting waves, surprised at how meditative the sailing was. He trained his eyes on the nearing shoreline as he pushed on the oar, propelling himself forward as Carter flew overhead. 

_See?_

Percy dragged the rowboat onto the small beach, humming to himself. After the boat was secured, he straightened, putting his hands on his hips and squinting at Kephallonia. It looked so different from far away--even more beautiful, and even less hospitable. “Have you heard the story of Odysseus, Carter? All the way in Egypt?” 

The falcon had settled himself on a tree branch. He cocked his little falcon head with a “rak?” sound. 

“When Odysseus finally returned to Ithaka, after twenty long years of war and suffering, he was asleep.” He toed the sand. “The Phaeacians had to carry him off their boat and leave him on the beach.” He turned, meeting the falcon’s eyes. “You think it was this beach? Are we on hallowed ground, Mr. Pharaoh?” 

Carter looked at the sand, as if inspecting it for holiness. Percy couldn’t help but laugh. “That poor schmuck. He woke up to fifty guys living in his house, wanting to kill him.” 

Carter fluttered his wings a bit. Percy found himself looking into his eyes again, seeing the familiar glimmer of wisdom in the warm brown irises. _How does the story end?_

Percy furrowed his brow. “He was smart about it. He disguised himself as an old beggar, got the lay of the land…” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “No way we can take that tack. The old legends don’t help us at all. Odysseus intimidated those guys--not to mention he had his son’s help. If you can’t turn into a human, then it’s just me against all of those bandits. I have no disguise, no magic bowstring, no Telemachus, _definitely_ no Athena--” 

He bit his lip. Carter leaned forward and released a bold falcon cry, no doubt meant to rally Percy’s will. Despite himself, he smiled. “Why don’t you fly ahead? I’m sure I’ll be able to make a better plan if I know what I’m up against.”

Carter released another “rak” sound and took to the skies. Percy watched him glide away in that blue expanse before turning back to the waves lapping at the shore. His mind drifted, ultimately arriving at the dream. 

It’s always harder to recall dreams in the daylight, but he tried. There were the core things that came up every time. The cave. The glowing pyramid. The white masks, with tears of blood. The whispers. 

It was the whispers he couldn’t stop thinking about. How Dodds had said exactly what the dream had conjured: “Shroud of Penelope, wife of Odysseus.” Did that make the dream, what, a premonition? Was he an oracle now? He blinked up at the sun. _Apollo!_ he wanted to shout, _you have some explaining to do!_

But that couldn’t be it--it made no sense. He wasn’t a prophet. _But what else could explain…?_

Did that mean the other whispers would come to pass? But one of them had already passed--“You are my greatest pride.” His father. 

Percy pressed his fingertips to his temples. Priests often said dreams were messages from the gods. _Well, that would make more sense than me being a damned oracle, for crying out loud._ So then, what was the message? Maybe...maybe that everything in the dreams either had already been said, or _will_ be said. Maybe it was a warning. 

The screaming woman. 

“The traitor--is--DEAD!” 

Her voice was full of primal rage, every time. Was she what the gods were trying to warn Percy of? Was it a precaution--could the woman and her anguish be avoided? Or was it a prophecy? An inevitable confrontation? How could he prepare for something like that--for that kind of pain? 

And what if the gods weren’t real, like he suspected? Then what? Was his subconscious making up something to be afraid of, as if he didn’t have enough to fear already? Was this woman some part of a past life? 

Somehow those theories made even less sense. 

No...like the “greatest pride” and the “shroud of Penelope”, somehow, something was trying to tell him about events to come. To reveal parts of the future. To ready him. 

Too bad their warnings were even more unhelpful than Mr. D’s gods-damned uncles. 

Before he knew it, Carter was soaring back to the shore. Percy gave him a small smile and waited for his report; his spirit cheered a little when he saw Carter clutching only one stick. But then Carter landed in the sand, using that stick to write something. One word, in Greek, over and over again. 

_Many, many, many, many, many, many--_

Percy could feel the blood draining from his face. “Too many to count?”

Carter tipped forward--the falcon nod. Then he wrote a different word. 

_But._

Percy frowned, cocking his head. “But what?”

_I found your Athena._

Percy followed the falcon around the edges of the vast estate, clambering through crumpling buildings and patches of trees. The southern side of the palace was less populated--none but a few stray dogs roamed the overgrown grounds. The northernmost half of the palace was more intact, and the _many many many_ bandits likely knew they’d be safer there. 

Percy kept to the shadows, ducking between trees and rotting walls of sun-warmed stone as he skirted across the rocky ground. Carter led the way; with his falcon wings and unobstructed course, he travelled much faster, and Percy was near-sprinting to keep up with him. He was lucky he didn’t trip over the numerous fat tree roots. 

At long last, Carter landed, settling on what had once been a grand wall to defend the estate. Now, it was a wall only in name, crumbling quickly around the edges like a delicate cookie. The falcon fixed his gaze on something a few meters ahead of Percy: something Percy couldn’t yet see through the trees before him. Resting his hand on the pommel of his sheathed xiphos, he made his way forward. 

Just before he escaped the treeline, he saw her. She was in a large cage to his right, just large enough for a person to stand in--and standing she was, as well as running her thumbs along the wooden bars of her prison as she gnawed on her bottom lip. Though the cage was leaned against the ruins of a small stone building, surrounded by things--fallen branches, chains, a few pouches and crates--she was unguarded. No bandit was watching her. A cursory scan of her body and cage told Percy she was unarmed--or more likely, she’d been disarmed. 

His first impression was that she was a princess. She was that beautiful. Her golden hair was messily tied back, the stray strands curling gently around her face; in the sunlight, it softly glowed. Her dark gray tunic exposed her freckled shoulders and muscled arms--this was someone who moved around a lot, in the glory of the sun. A wide blue sash was tied around her waist, as well as many leather and silver belts designed to hold multiple knives. She stood with practiced poise, the figure of a lovingly carved statue. It kind of took Percy’s breath away. 

But her eyes ruined the image. They darted under her frowning brow, glittering with calculated fury. They scanned the surroundings regularly, mathematically, betraying an intelligence that seemed inhuman. They transformed her entire visage, her whole being, from that of a tender and sweet princess to one of a queen--a warrior queen, accustomed to issuing commands, to leading. Even in a cage, she was in charge. Though Percy was so far away, he could see the color of her irises, that’s how powerful her gaze was--a vicious gray, like an incoming storm. 

All of this he absorbed in milliseconds--the same amount of time it took for the woman to spot him approaching. 

Before she could assume he was a threat, he stepped into the light, hands up. “Chaire.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say. His mind was blank. An animal frozen in fear. 

“...Hi.” She had a white-knuckle grip on the bars of her cage as she looked him up and down. “Can I help you?” 

He put his hands down. “I’m here to let you out.” He saw her eyebrows raise as he strode to the door of her cage. He saw the door was tied shut with thin chains--too strong to be severed by bare hands, but thin enough to be broken with a hefty swing of _Anaklusmos_. He motioned for the woman to back up, then unsheathed his xiphos and swung, shattering the chain in one fell swoop. 

The woman nearly burst through the door, taking several long strides into the center of the clearing. Percy could hear her smile in her relieved sigh. After a moment of silence, she turned to face him. “And who do I have to thank for freeing me?” she said, gesturing to Percy. 

“Perseus,” he replied, “Percy.” He handed her a dagger from his belt. “Can you fight?” 

She took the dagger with ease, expertly turning and flipping it a few times in her hand. A small, wicked grin played along her lips. “I’d be happy to.” 

“Your head is full of sawdust and kelp.” 

Percy rapped his knuckles against one of his temples. “I’m aware.” 

“And how much money did this person offer you to retrieve the shroud?”

“They didn’t give a number.” 

“Then you’re even stupider than you look.” 

Percy scowled. “At least I’m not the one who got stuck in a cage.” 

The woman huffed, blowing a piece of hair out of her eyes. The pair was walking down a small hill, keeping to the edge of the palace grounds--not necessarily heading back to the beach, though Percy couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.

Percy turned to his new companion, studying her profile. “How did you get caught in there, anyway?”

She grimaced. “I came up to these ruins to see how Odysseus lived. I didn’t expect the place to be crawling with bandits.” 

“I didn’t peg you as the touristy type.” 

“I wanted to study the ruins too, if that redeems me in your eyes. I’m a tourist and a scholar.” She kept her eyes carefully trained ahead of them, ever focused and alert. “Those damn marauders thought I was a thief or something. They took all my weapons and locked me on the other side of the estate.”

“How long were you stuck there?” 

“Not long. Maybe five hours.” She looked at him. “You really think they have...you know. _Penelope’s_ shroud?” 

“Or something like it, yeah.” He pushed a branch out of his way. “What, you don’t think it exists?”

“Oh, I’m sure it does,” she scoffed. “Right alongside Ariadne’s magic rope and the head of Medusa.” 

“Well, my employer seemed pretty convinced.”

She stopped walking, putting her hands on her hips. “How do you know you’re not getting scammed here? This ‘employer’ didn’t give you a down payment, or even an exact sum of drachmae.”

Percy cocked his head, putting his hands on his hips in a mirror of her stance. “Why else would I be here? Seems like a lot of effort for a simple scam.” 

“But the perfect amount of effort for a homicide attempt.” 

He put up his hands. “Woah, woah, woah. You think that old lady is trying to kill me?” 

“Why not? She sends you to an island that’s deserted, save for the small _army_ of bandits, with very little information and vague promises of a great reward. I mean, for all we know, she could have specifically hired those bandits to be here and kill you, to orchestrate this whole crime and make it look like you blundered into your own demise.”

“Okay, first of all? I don’t blunder anywhere. I _swagger_ into my own demise. And secondly, I’m flattered and all, but I’m not important enough to be killed so--I don’t know, quietly.” 

She lifted her arms in a nonchalant _I-don’t-know_ pose. “Just saying.”

Percy bit his lip. Had he pissed off someone so much that it warranted this kind of assassination? “I’m just a measly misthios from nowheresville. I can’t think of why a rich old lady would want me dead.” He nodded to the northeast, in the direction of the palace. “And who knows? Maybe the shroud is real. Or a replica of it is. In which case, this is kind of the payday I need right now. It’s worth poking around.” 

She stepped to his side. “Well, I won’t let you go alone.” 

His eyes widened as he faced her. “What? I wasn’t trying to--really, you should get out of here. You don’t have to stay. I’m sure your boat is--”

She held up a hand, instantly silencing him. “I owe you one. You got me out of that cage before dinnertime.” 

“I think you mean to say, I saved your life.” 

“I would’ve found my own way out soon enough.” She met his eyes, a slightly-joking smile on her lips. “But I didn’t have to. So, thanks.” She turned back to the trees before them. “And besides, I never really saw the ruins I came all this way to see. Now, I’ll get to return to them the same way Odysseus did--as a sneaky hero. It’ll be fun.” 

“It’ll be incredibly dangerous.” 

“That’s what I said. Fun.” She crossed her arms. “Not to mention if the shroud _is_ real, I definitely want to see it before you whisk it away.” 

“That’s right, I almost forgot I was dealing with a scholar.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Lead the way, Kelp-for-brains.” 

The entrance to the intact section of the palace was an unbarred, unblocked gate through the grand wall, guarded by a couple of the bandits. That gate opened up to the courtyard, featuring many grand staircases and stone buildings built like terraces into hillsides. These buildings, gardens, yards, and paths sprawled over the land, dominating this southwestern corner of the island--and it was crawling with bandits like an anthill crawls with ants. 

Percy and his new friend watched the heavily armed people from their new vantage point. They had scaled the defensive wall and were now crouching behind turrets, studying the grounds from their birds-eye view. The woman’s eyes were intensely focused; she scanned the bandits on the estate as though reading their futures. Percy could only guess at what she was thinking--or what their plan would be. 

“Do you see someone who would be--I don’t know, the leader?”

Her question snapped Percy out of his reverie. “No--none of those people on the ground there look like any captain I’ve fought before.” 

She nodded, gaze travelling up to a building and canopy on a small hill. “Then they must be somewhere we can’t see. Up there.” She nodded to that small summit. 

Percy didn’t follow. “Why up there? Why not… down there?”

“Look at how the canopy is positioned over a balcony. And see how the flowers are kept? That’s the nicest building on the estate--if I were a captain, I’d definitely be lounging there.” She gestured to the various stairwells and terraces of the palace. “And it gives a good vantage point of the whole camp. It’s perfect. And since the shroud is probably with the captain…” She narrowed her eyes, watching the building like a hawk. “I suggest we start there.” 

Percy could do nothing but nod. The pair crept along the wall, both keeping one eye trained on the grounds below, hoping no one could see them. 

They finally reached a spot just above the building. It really was the nicest--the warm brown bricks were solid, the roof intact, the canopies shading various scrolls, tablets, and amphoras of fragrant wine. The woman jerked her head to the bushes just beneath them; Percy didn’t completely catch her meaning until she leapt over the side of the wall and landed in the shelter of the grasses, hidden from view. Percy followed her lead. 

They were within spitting distance of bandits. Two stood outside the entrance to the building, staring off into space. There would be no sneaking past them. 

Percy nudged the woman, carefully unsheathing _Anaklusmos_ . His question was clear: _kill them?_

She bit her lip, then nodded. They were in agreement. With little ceremony, Percy let out a soft whistle--one sharp note that had the bandits turning their heads. One stood up straight, no longer leaning against the wall. “Who’s there?”

In tandem, they unsheathed small swords and walked for the grasses where Percy and the woman hid. Percy saw her widen her stance, adjust her grip on the dagger. When the bandits’ knees brushed the grasses, she leapt up, sinking her blade into the man’s throat and forcing him to the ground with her weight. 

The other bandit had no time to shout--in an instant Percy was on him, first covering his mouth to silence him, then kneeing his crotch to fell him, and finally slicing his neck to kill him. In milliseconds he was back on the ground, hiding beside his partner, catching his breath. 

Her face was flushed, wrists splattered with blood. Though her pupils were dilated, she was completely still and silent. She met Percy’s eyes, giving him a single nod. “You’re a good fighter.” 

Percy didn’t know what to make of that. “Thanks. You are too,” he added, “for a scholar.” 

She smirked, turning to face the now-unguarded entrance. “After you.” 

Percy huffed, rising to a crouch and quickly stepping towards the building. Trying to keep to the shadows, he pressed himself against the warm walls as the woman followed him. They shared one final look-- _ready? Ready_ \--and ducked inside, blades poised. 

The room was dark, lit only by the sunlight streaming in through the windows, and Percy barely registered the wooden table bearing a piece of cloth before the captain brought his sword down upon them. 

Percy shrieked and parried, quickly jumping out of the way to size up this opponent. The captain was fierce, tall, glowing in his golden armor, his face entirely shadowed by his impressive helmet. He carried a shield as tall as Percy, and the blade of his sword was wide and wickedly sharp. 

Percy had mere moments to take this all in--and then the captain was upon him, shouting as he slashed down. Percy raised his xiphos to block, and the force of the captain’s strike sent reverberations up his entire arm. He rolled out of the way, just in time for the woman to leap and stab her dagger into the man’s shoulder. He bellowed as she yanked the dagger out, whirling around and slamming his shield into her hip with such force that she toppled to the ground. 

With little preface, the captain raised his sword, preparing to plunge it into her gut--but Percy tackled him just in time, knocking the breath from the man’s lungs as they smashed into the floor. 

The captain was splayed--Percy pinned his shield arm down, fumbling for _Anaklusmos,_ an arrowhead, anything pointy, but he wasn’t fast enough. With a small roar, the captain swung his sword, hacking into Percy’s side with his blade. The first hit scored Percy’s leather armor, but the second struck flesh, cutting straight through his muscle and plowing into his bottomost rib. 

There was nothing else Percy could do--he screamed. The captain wrenched his blade out with a grunt, preparing another swing that would shatter Percy’s bones--Percy tried to raise a hand to his wound to protect it--better to lose a finger than his life--

There was a pitchy yell and a flash of silver as the woman plunged her dagger into the man’s neck. With a gasp, he dropped his sword; it clanged brightly against the stone floor. Percy heaved himself off the man’s torso, clutching his bleeding side. The woman didn’t move at all--she kept her hand on the grip of the dagger, the blade expertly angled to pierce his heart. She seemed intent on sitting there until the man was dead--until she saw Percy, struggling to breathe. 

“Percy!” she gasped, rushing to his side. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the slashed-apart leather, the gushing blood. She pressed both of her hands to the wound, grimacing with the effort. “I don’t--how--” 

“No,” he choked out through gritted teeth, “I’ll be fine.” 

“We need to get help. Forget the shroud.”

“Just--help me stand--” He forced his knees to bend, to get his feet under him. As he pushed himself up, black spots pulsed across his vision. He crashed into the woman, unable to bear his own weight. 

She held him up, sturdy as a tree. “Stay with me, Seaweed Brain.” 

He chuckled. And suddenly they were moving, the woman practically pulling him across the room, gently settling him into a chair. For the briefest of moments, she cupped his face, pressing her thumb into his cheek as she grabbed at something on the table--and that, the gentlest pressure, was all Percy could focus on. The only thing tethering him to the earth. 

She pressed something into his side--the cloth. Percy tilted his head, trying to look at it. He could tell it was beautifully, lovingly made--dark blue, almost black, with a white trim, woven tightly and carefully. It was small, barely a scrap, but strong enough to stave off the tide of his bleeding. 

He closed his eyes for a moment--then snapped them open. “What is that?” 

The woman only pressed the cloth harder against him. “What do you mean?”

“The cloth. What is it?”

“It’s… fabric, Percy.” 

“Is it the shroud?!” 

She bit her lip. “Almost definitely.” 

“What--stop getting my blood all over it!” His fingers scrabbled at her palms, trying to pull her away.

Her grip was too firm. She lifted one hand to press down on his shoulder, holding him back. “No!”

“How am I going to get my money if there’s blood all over it?!” 

“No amount of drachmae is worth your life!” The words came out louder than she’d intended--her eyes, wide and harried, darted towards the door. Thankfully, they were still alone. 

“You don’t get it,” he panted. “This job--this money is… my ticket out of Kephallonia. I need it. My family…” 

Without looking up from his wound, she took his hand, her grip on his fingers firm with surety. “I’ll wash the blood out myself. Everything will be okay, okay?” 

“Okay,” Percy breathed. 

There was the briefest moment of stillness. The woman’s brow was furrowed, as though trying to decide between staying exactly like this with Percy, or leaving to find help or medical supplies. 

The captain made the choice for them. 

He moved slowly, imperceptibly, extracting a horn from his hip and raising it to his mouth. When he blew into it, the sound echoed across the entire island--a long continuous bellow, a deep screech, impossible to ignore. 

The woman yelped and ran to the captain, kicking him hard in the jaw, knocking him out--but the damage was done. The two could hear yelling and frantic footsteps from the palace grounds. The woman let out a long stream of curses, rushing back to Percy’s side and pulling his arm over her shoulders, forcing him to his feet. “We've got to get out of here--now!” 

As quick as they could, they staggered out of the back door, coming around to the other side of the terrace, they could see the marauders mobilizing. A few saw them, pointing, shouting, but the pair never stopped moving. There was no time nor point in stealth--they ran down the steps, sandals beating into the ground as they raced for the main gate of the palace. They lunged into the main courtyard, instantly capturing the attention of ten bandits, maybe more. 

The woman pulled away from Percy as they both reached for their weapons. Adrenaline made Percy blind to his pain as he whipped out his xiphos--but there was no time to stay and fight. The two remained in constant motion, sprinting for the gate, frantically swinging their blades to bat aside incoming arrows and sword-strikes. As Percy ran for his life, he clutched the soaking shroud, dripping red in his fist. 

The pair surged through the main entrance to the palace. They were outside the walls of the estate, but not beyond the bandits’ anger--the marauders followed them, pouring through the archway with an impossibly loud battle cry. 

“I have a boat!” Percy cried over the din. “On the shore, just ahead!” The bandits couldn’t follow them across the strait--they’d have to go to the other side of Ithaka and launch their own boats to do that, and by then Percy would be long gone. 

Suddenly, Carter released a cry that could’ve split the sky. Percy’s breath hitched painfully, and he looked up, peering towards the shoreline, wondering what Carter could be warning him of--

Wait.

Since when had there been two boats on the beach? 

Parked right next to Percy’s was a boat of similar size--and there were footsteps, leading from its hull to… 

A very familiar silhouette. 

Without warning, Percy seized the woman’s arm and pulled her into the shady undergrowth off the trail. She gave a loud “woah!” and several “HEY!”s before Percy stopped and crouched, pulling her to the ground with him, desperately hoping they were hidden. 

“What’s the big idea?!” she hissed, eyes blown wide with an almost cartoonish fury. Percy tried to force out the words, but he couldn’t catch his breath--his chest seized and stuttered, blood streaming steadily down his hip, his leg. 

Gently, he grabbed her shoulders. “Talos the Stone-Fist.” 

“What the hell are you talking about?!” 

“Did you see--that man. Near the beach. Coming this way.” 

“What about him?!”

“He’s been hired to kill me. He’s good at his job.” He wheezed, clutching at his side. “I can’t let him find me like this.” 

She met his gaze, gray eyes bright with understanding--like lightning shrouded in storm clouds. “I’ll distract him.” 

“No--no. Go--sneak around him. Take the shroud--” he pressed the bloody cloth into her hands, “--and take one of the boats. Get out of here. I’ll hold him off.”

There was a moment of silence as she tried to process what he said. Percy could see the wheels turning in her head. “If you think I would just _leave_ you here, you are even dumber than I could’ve possibly imagined.” 

“This isn’t a negotiation--”

“No, it is--I have a better idea.” She nodded back to the path, where both bandits and Talos were scanning the brush, searching for them. “You sneak around and take a boat, while I run for the southern tip of the island. You’ll sail around and meet me there. We escape!” 

“In that case, why couldn’t you just hop in the boat with me?” 

“Because the bandits and big guy would be right behind us. They’d hop onto the other boat and follow us wherever we go. If I lead them all the way to the southern tip, they’d have to come all the way back here before they could get a boat--by then, we’ll be gone. It gives us a big head start.”

Percy was liking the sound of this more and more--with just one problem. “Talos isn’t going to chase after you. He’s going to see me launching a boat and come right for me. I’m his target.” He narrowed his eyes, peering at the warrior beyond the trees. “If you want this plan to work, I need to be the one running for the southern tip. You get the boat. Talos will leave you alone.”

She frowned. “You are in no condition to run that far.” 

“When my life depends on it, you’d be shocked at the things I can do.” 

She squeezed her eyes shut. “...Okay. Okay. If you say you can.”

“I can.” Without thinking, he grabbed her hand. “Quick. What’s your name?”

She opened her eyes, meeting his, a little bit shocked, as though wondering where her manners had gone. “Annabeth.”

“Annabeth,” he murmured. He stood, releasing her hand. He wanted to say goodbye, say thank you, or something inspiring… 

“The bird will help you.” 

And just like that, he was off. 

He burst out of the treeline, careening across the path, up the hill, away from the beach, and capturing the attention of every single enemy in sight. There were shrieks and clangs of metal as the marauders started after him, but Percy didn’t dare look over his shoulder. He flung himself through the undergrowth, flying over roots and stones, dodging ruins and trees alike. 

His heart raced with wild fear, and he could barely time his breathing correctly as he sprinted over the rocky ground. It felt like there was a stampede at his back. The bandits roared their battle cry, ready to surge forward and engulf him like a wave, but it was the silent warrior that scared Percy the most. Talos, with legs as strong as a prized ox’s, rushing over the ground, toes undoubtedly stepping on Percy’s shadow-- 

There was no time to look, no time to breathe. Percy desperately tried to ignore the flaming pain in his side, the limp staggering his step--no time for this! He kept his entire focus ahead of him, swerving around obstacles, leaping over weeds and holes in the ground. But there was hope--he could feel the ocean growing nearer. As the trees thinned, he knew he was getting close. Just ignore the resounding footsteps of the pursuers--Annabeth is going to be right there--

As he darted around the final remnants of the palace walls, he thrust his chin in the air, searching the horizon and _praise the gods_ he could see the ocean. Just a few more paces-- 

But there was a glaring problem. 

The ground did not dip down into a nice, sandy beach. In fact, there was no beach at all. Before Percy was nothing but the edge of a cliff, dropping down for over a hundred meters and plunging into the sea. No other exits. 

He could see Annabeth, her blonde hair shining like a second sun, screaming and waving her arms-- _abort mission!_ He could also hear the tide of enemies behind him--feel Talos’s carnivorous grin bearing down on his neck-- 

He didn’t change directions. He didn’t stop. He didn’t even think. 

_May Poseidon protect me._

He raced to the edge of the cliff and jumped. 

There was no sound--just one sharp collective inhalation, the entire known world holding its breath. Percy didn’t even give the satisfaction of a scream. 

His heart seized with terror. All he could think of was the last time he’d been flung from a cliff--Taygetos--his mother’s screams--the torchlight, the ripe moon, and oh, gods, the pain-- 

These three seconds of complete and total fear made the impact of the ocean that much more welcome.

“How in the name of all the gods are you alive?!” 

When Annabeth watched Percy jump off the cliff, she’d been too shocked to scream. It wasn’t until his body hit the water that she realized what just happened. With short little wails of disbelief, she’d pressed on the oar, forcing the boat forward, expecting to find a floating corpse--relieved, yet stupefied, to find a totally fine, slightly dazed Percy doggy-paddling to her side. 

Now Percy was the one working the oar, propelling them across the rolicking blue waves. A small smile played along his lips, the deep cut in his side now merely a bright red mark, already sealing itself. Annabeth knelt in the raft, looking almost furious in her dumbfoundedness, gripping the mast of the boat so tightly her whole hand was white. “That fall would have _killed_ any other man in the world.” 

“Are you saying you wish I had died?” 

She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like ‘dumbass’. “It would make more _sense_ , at least!” 

“Must the world always make sense to you scholars?” 

Her glare filled him with instant remorse--and yet he couldn’t help but laugh. “Sorry--I’m sorry!” He held up his hands as Annabeth leaned forward, smacking at his shins with her sheathed dagger. He sat down, keeping one hand on the oar--he couldn’t stop grinning. “Really. But to tell you the truth, I don’t know what happened. I don’t know how I’m alive.” 

“I don’t believe you.”

He raised a brow. “Really?”

“Why did you jump over the side, if you didn’t know you would live?” She crossed her arms, concern etched in the lines of her face. 

“I, um. Death was better than Talos?” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know. I have a weird history with the… water.”

She cocked an eyebrow. 

“Just that, like, I’ve fallen into the water from high places before--I mean, never that high before, but still--and I’ve been fine. And the water--I think it makes me stronger, too. It heals my injuries quicker.” He turned to the red slash in his side, which had long since stopped bleeding, as if displaying proof. 

She peered at the wound, contemplating something. But all she said was “Huh. Interesting.” 

“Maybe it’s instinct.” 

“Maybe.” 

“Or maybe I’m part fish.” 

She scoffed--then smiled. “Seaweed brain.” 

“Alright, I’ll bite--what’s with the ‘seaweed brain’?” He propped his chin on his fist. “What, do I look like a sailor to you?” 

She gestured indistinctly. “Just… your eyes are green.” 

Oh. She’d noticed. “...Like seaweed?” 

“I guess--it was better than ‘plant brain’.” 

“Still… that’s a pretty crappy insult.” 

She gaped, holding back a giggle. “I was under pressure! I didn’t have time to think of anything smart!” She reached over and playfully shoved his shoulder. “Let’s see you try, hm? Try to make up an insult for me, we’ll see how quickly you can come up with something intelligent.” 

“Alright. Alright!” He narrowed his eyes, studying her with an exaggerated expression of focus. 

She had gray eyes. _Like Athena!_ But he doubted calling her “Athena” was much of an insult. She was smart. She was a scholar, after all. 

“I’m waiting,” she crooned. 

“Wait a little longer, you wise… girl.” 

She pressed her lips together in an obvious effort not to laugh. “Is that the insult?”

Well, it would be better to own it now. “I--yeah! Take that, Wise Girl!”

She bent over with the force of her laughter, the guffaws echoing across the waves. “‘Smartass’ would’ve been twice as clever as that!” 

“Well I’m--I’m not clever! That’s your job, Miss Scholar.” 

She pressed a hand over her lips to stifle her cheer, but her eyes still glimmered with mirth. “Alright. Solid effort.” 

He cocked his head as she sighed contentedly. “Are you really a scholar?” he asked. “You fight too well to be just that.” 

“You’re saying a person can’t be smart and strong at the same time?” 

“I’m saying most schools don’t teach their students to be soldiers.” 

She leaned her head against the mast, training her eyes on the sky. “Technically, I’m both of those things. Student and soldier.” She turned back to him. “I’m a military strategist.” 

“...How’d you get a job like that as an eighteen year-old?”

“I’m nineteen, actually--and the trick is to be really, really good at what you do.” Did she just wink at him? Percy tried to fight the blush rising to his cheeks. 

Just then, Carter landed on the mast. Annabeth jumped a little, then turned to Percy, not believing her eyes. “Is this--”

“The bird? Yes.” 

“Oh.” A beat. “I thought you were going into shock when you said that earlier. Did _not_ fill me with confidence.”

“Ye of little faith.” 

She gave a single chuckle, watching the falcon. “What’s his name?”

“...Ikaros.” 

“Is he your pet?”

“Not really. More like a friend.” 

Kephallonia was close now--they were mere meters away from shore. As Percy jumped off and pulled the boat in, Annabeth pulled something from under her seat. “Here--your shroud.” 

The cloth was barely the size of a hood, and it was dripping wet with seawater--but at least it wasn’t bloody anymore. Whatever magic Annabeth wreaked had worked. “Thank you. For everything.” 

“I’m just glad I got to see it in the flesh. Or, cloth.” 

Percy snickered as Annabeth clambered onto the beach. “What’s next for you?” he asked. 

She shrugged. “This was a nice little detour, but now I need regroup--find the army I’m supposed to be fighting for.” She sighed, rolling her shoulders. “I’ll have to hire a new boat out of here--can’t go back to Ithaka--and get to the peninsula.”

“You don’t sound excited.” 

“A job’s a job. I’m not exactly fighting for my homeland.” She stared at the horizon, not caring to share any more than that. “But I have time. You said this shroud was your ticket out of Kephallonia?” 

“Did I?” 

“You were bleeding out at the time, but yes. You plan on leaving?” 

He sighed, rubbing the cloth in his hand. “Once I have the drachmae, yes.” 

She crossed her arms, stepping closer to him. “I have drachmae.” 

His head snapped up. “I couldn’t possibly ask--”

She held up a hand, silencing him. _How does she do that?_ “It’s not enough to cover the cost of a whole family. But combined with the reward you might get for that…” She nodded to the shroud. “It’s enough to make sure we all get off this rock in one piece.” 

“You’re saying we’d pool our money?” She nodded.

The chance of leaving Kephallonia was getting more and more possible with every passing day. Percy could scarcely believe his luck. “I… Annabeth. Thank you. I owe you.” He smirked “You got me out of that palace before dinnertime.”

She closed her eyes, fighting a smile. “I think you mean to say, I saved your life.”

He didn’t say anything. She _had_ saved his life, after all. They both knew it.

After a quiet pause, she opened her eyes again, giving him a small, almost shy smile. Percy’s heart made a weird _thunk_ sound. “One condition--do you know a place I could stay, for free? A cave or camp? Your house? Just until you and your family are ready to go. I’d shack up in an inn, but I don’t exactly have the budget.” 

He refrained from telling her his house had burned down. “There’s a small vineyard, on the tallest southern foothill of Mount Ainos. The house there--it belongs to… one of my employers. Tell him Perseus sent you, and ask for Bianca--she’ll help you out.” He paused, thinking, then quickly unstrapped his scabbard, handing the sheathed xiphos to her. “If you bring them _Anaklusmos,_ they’ll know they can trust you.” 

“You’d walk around without a sword? In _this_ country? Is that smart?”

“I’ll be right behind you--I just need to deliver the shroud. And I have my backups--my bow and quiver, my knives. I’ll be okay.” 

She nodded, studying the hilt of the xiphos. “ _Anaklusmos?_ Riptide?” 

“All good swords have names.” 

“I suppose so.” She gave him a long look--of gratitude, or kindness, or farewell, or some combination of those. “I’ll be seeing you, Seaweed Brain.” 

“Chaire, Wise Girl.” 

She turned and headed for the treeline--but Percy caught the glimmers of her smile before she left. 

Dodds was waiting at the Temple of Zeus. 

Percy had whistled for Rota, and like magic, the horse was at his side. He took the eastern road to Sami, Rota’s strength carrying them there in a mere half hour. The sun was starting to set, the sky a vast smear of orange-- _gods, what a long day_ \--when he arrived at the red-pillared temple. 

With little ceremony, he dismounted and headed for the gray stone steps of the temple. He planned to stroll right in, meet Dodds with confidence and surety--but just like they had two days ago, his feet stalled the moment his toes reached the first step. The way was clear, incense burning, priestesses abundant--but he couldn’t go inside. 

What _was_ wrong with him? He wasn’t afraid of Zeus. Then why did he feel so wary? Despite the welcoming facade of the temple, the air seemed to crackle with malicious energy. A cold breeze brushed against his arms, causing his skin to prickle, and a thought, in a voice that wasn’t his own, echoed against his skull: _You have no power here._

He was hallucinating--had to be. Maybe all that blood loss was catching up with him. He set his jaw, steeled his nerve. He took the first step. 

And just like that, he was at the entrance to the inner temple, perched just on the threshold. _SEE how easy that was?_ He must have looked like an idiot, standing at the bottom step for so long. 

Still. A nameless something made _Anaklusmos’s_ absence that much more noticeable. 

The temple was beautiful. Colorful murals of bulls and triremes covered every wall, and the tile floors were scattered with flower petals and small piles of gold, jewels, and offerings. A few intricately painted vases were clustered in one corner, and a wooden altar, shiny with bright lacquer, held incense at the end of the room. In the full light of day, it would be gleaming, and the murals would be jumping off the walls. Behind the altar stood multiple wooden shelves--and Dodds. 

She smiled as Percy walked in, pressing her knobby old hands against the altar surface. “Back so soon? Good news, I hope.” 

Percy grimaced, pulling the folded shroud from a small pouch at his belt. Thrusting it forward, he met Dodds’ eyes. “Safe and sound.” 

Dodds’ eyes glittered. “Well done.” She folded her hands. “And now, the shroud is yours.” 

Percy felt as though the air had been yanked from his lungs. “You don’t want it? After all of that?” He tried to temper his shock, lest it give way to real anger. 

“I gained something far more valuable today.” She let that statement hang in the air for a quiet moment--then turned to the shelves behind her, grabbing a pouch. “For your troubles, misthios,” she announced as she set it on the altar. Percy could hear coins clinking together in the bag. 

Percy stepped closer to the table, eyeing the bag as though it were a sleeping viper. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were testing me.” 

Dodds merely chuckled--the small cackle of a crone. “You did well, honey.” She turned around again, grabbing a scroll from the shelf, and placed it directly into Percy’s hand. “Tell me, how would you feel about killing a general in Megaris?”

The smoke of the incense curled slowly towards the ceiling. It was the only moving thing. 

Percy said nothing.

“Do this for me,” Dodds said, her voice lower, quieter, “and you will earn double what you did today. It would take you far away from Kephallonia.” She slowly cocked her head to one side. “So far away, you might never return.” 

In the distance, a crow cawed. A cow mooed. Priestesses whispered amongst themselves. The ocean waves inched closer and closer with the high tide, as if trying to lap up to his ankles, to carry him away. He could feel its pull--the pull of the world. Maybe even destiny. 

“Who is this general?” 

Dodds grinned. “They call him the Wolf.”

“What did the Wolf ever do to you?”

“Nothing, personally--but he’s costing me drachmae. Not good for business.”

Percy narrowed his eyes. “Why me?”

“No one knows who you are, honey.” The look in her eyes was conspiratorial. “You’re invisible.” 

Percy took a deep breath. He closed his eyes. The scroll felt heavier than it looked; he curled his fingers around it. 

He trusted where the tide would take him. 

“I’ll do it. I’ll kill your general.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Tumblr @from-the-child-gods for information and updates about this fic (as well as fun content surrounding modern mythology)! :)


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